Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't want to be a boy today
I heard the eternal footman
Bought himself a bike to race
And Greg he writes letters
And burns his CDs
They say you were something
In those formative years
Hold onto nothing as fast as you can
Well still pretty good year...
Maybe a bright sandy beach
Is gonna bring you back
Maybe not so now you're off
You're gonna see America
Well let me tell you
Something about America
Pretty good year...
Some things are melting now
Well what's it gonna take till
My baby's alright
And Greg he writes letters
With his birthday pen
Sometimes he's aware that
They're drawing him in
Lucy was pretty
Your best friend agreed
Well still pretty good year...