All of these outlines fade away Paving a path that seems to fall Out of my way Longing for teenage certainty Minding the gaps too much as An absentee The dotted lines in question How can this be my own design? We were once so whimsical How did we become so cynical? If our shouts were visceral When did our figures become literal? Was the past as good as I remember? Feels like I'm missing all the turns The only line I stayed in case I return The rearview mirror never blurs And things look bigger there Yet dissapear We were once so whimsical How did we become so cynical? If our shouts were visceral When did our figures become literal? Was the past as good as I remember? We were once so whimsical How did we become so cynical? If our shouts were visceral When did our figures become literal? Was the past as good as I remember?