“This is one of our first songs, written in the Capaldi basement back in 1998.” – Justin

At seventeen, he played guitar all day
To make up for the words he didn’t say
He tried to find her
To her he wasn’t there
Another “no one cares”
Or so it seems

On Saturdays, she’d lay all day in bed
In a trance from all the things she read
She tried to find out
What love was all about
She’d close her eyes
And fall asleep

She doesn’t have a lot of things to say
She tries to find a place where she can stay
And never make a sound

At twenty one, he sat and cried all day
When he realized he won’t be saved
He lived in scenes
Like pictures on the wall
Painted on the surface of it all

He doesn’t have a lot of things to say
He tries to find a place where he can stay
And never make a sound

And so it seemed, he was awful small
Always on the outside of it all

And so it seemed, they were awful small
Always on the outside of it all

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