Withered Hand - No Cigarettes

Think me and you could maybe use a lost weekend
I've been losing all my friends
I wave another empty bottle in your face
Like I'm hitting it hard
But it's just pretend
'cos you know I'm not
I wouldn't know where to start
I've been there before
I went and got lost
Always the back end of this pantomime horse

All we seem to do these days is wave our arms and yell
Other people are hell
And what's that song you're singing, everybody hurts?
And everybody lies
Don't wanna remember, too many regrets
And no cigarettes
'cos I'm not a smoker
But I said I was
And the elevator stuck between the floors
Is getting to me
Don't let him forsake you
Wrack him up and knock him down again
You're changing direction
I won't know where I was
The back end of the pantomime horse
Is getting to me

Maestro, a drum roll please
This is the golden age

Staring down the corners of the room
Another nowhere town
When everything I sing is in a minor key
I have to write it down
Or I won't remember
Then I'll get it wrong
This isn't the song, I'm thinking
I'm not the singer
That I thought I was
In the solitude before the applause
Is getting to me

Maestro a drum roll please
This is the golden age