Last friday night I wasn’t me,
I was a still life trapped in eternity,
I was the focal point out of focus,
out of ink, and I’ve been wandering nightly,
through the garden of your heartache,
always making a mess,
always stumbling out the door.
But I don’t wanna be an asshole anymore,
baby I’ll be good to you.
Another night I devoured the sun,
and plunged myself into the depths of oblivion,
somewhere along the way I found why it feels
damn good just to bleed sometimes,
but all I ever wanted was to make things right,
the years of idleness and spite,
have pushed my emotions off a bridge,
after taking them hostage with a shotgun,
now they’re somewhere treading water,
somewhere lost inside the man that I’m not.
I won’t lie no more, about where I’ve been,
and I won’t pry no more, over the people that
you’re hanging with, because you’re the only
lover that I’ve ever missed, ever been
hopelessly in love with, look at this tangle of
thorns, I don’t wanna be an asshole anymore.
At this point, the Menzingers are an absolute institution. The Philadelphia punk legends’ multi-decade reputation as road warriors with an unbeatable catalog is cemented as …