You said you write in cursive when you get mad, and I don't care
You told me I should stand up to my dad when he's unfair
It's funny, I write lyrics like a child half a decade later, with no eraser
because I've been stunted by how much 2008 hurt

I can't help but remember the song coming on in the heart of the mix
I told you it reminded me of being a child; now it reminds me of this
"This" meaning two weird years of my life, late and post-high school,
tumultuous tidepool, a 1/5th life crisis where the stillness
is just me keeping my cool

I'm 21 years old, and I've written many records that are really honest
But there's no context, no one has notes
So I tore my throat just for a mic check
My face was still red like October hunted from hands in my house
But it wasn't announced, not at that time
Outside of my rhymes, I was like a church-mouse

And we both saw a movie one night
"Where the Wild Things Are," directed by Spike Jonze
It made me weep for a part of my life
I had since disowned, I had since disowned
You touched the hair on the back of my head
I shrugged you off; where did you get the nerve?
Don't you ever touch the back of my head
Don't you ever remind me where the wild things were

One night I got a phone call that confirmed my whitest face
It seemed like for an hour or so in a tent, I'd been replaced
That's funny, I was so wrapped up in her, I rolled in yearning,
my shroud of Turin; it all made my cries due to actual pain
just seem like purring

And I'm addressing you when I sing "you"; you may or may not care
The listener isn't sure who's behind my door, but I know you're in there
So what, so we have made amends and are sort of friends
What am I sore for? It's my loose floorboards
I've got the past kept beneath me, and now it's springing upwards

They're gonna need cigar box after cigar box to bury them in,
skin upon skin, out in the yard,
all the slabs and shards of the boys I've been
And then they'll ask, "What'll we do with the bones?"
You can leave them alone; call the whole thing off
I don't need you or your murderous coup
You can leave them to lie unknown

And when the actual me is deceased, it will be dreary and big
like the dreams of a kid, but that'll be it,
and a box can fit all the songs I did
And if I'm really lucky, then people will listen, or maybe they'll read,
and will be agreed: though my life was star-lit,
these years were a pit of hurt for me

And we both saw a movie one night
"Where the Wild Things Are," directed by Spike Jonze
It made me weep for a part of my life
I had since disowned, I had since disowned
You touched the hair on the back of my head
I shrugged you off; where did you get the nerve?
Don't you ever touch the back of my head
Don't you ever remind me where the wild things were