Texty:
Scott Weiland Happy In Galoshes

Your car passed my street today but no one was driving It must be a metaphor for losing my mind Moving slow but way out of control I'm standing amongst

You were dressed up at the bar They expected us to fall from the heavens It's only seven, they were monkeys all of them Entertainment summer stain Wondering

Smoked my last cigarette Took a look at the bed The one that we called home Bought a ticket to somewhere, anywhere Did you think of me blind? 'Cause

You seem sad, but you're telling lies Getting lost in the shuffle of alibis Seasons change, so do you, so do I Where do I go? Looking back on indiscretion

Leave me here, I'm okay Just got back from hell today Open doors, feeling light Hours they pass, try to fly Leaving home, Steven's gay Not much more

When you look at the great big sky Do you see what other children see? In your dreams where I can fly Is it closer to your hiding place? Now the time