I'm sorry if we've been at two different ends of a candle burning out,
But the stillness of these rooms keeps our voices tucked away
And the scarceness of sunlight and the glow of the TV keeps the sentiment in short supply

And I'm all coiled like the telephone cord that I pulled out of the wall
So I wouldn't have to say that it's been a fucked up year,
But the next year will be better
And if next year is fucked up too,
Just know that I'll do my best to always be here for you

So let's just assume that next year will be fucked up too
We're still coming home every time we say we won't
We're still coming home every time we say we won't
Every time we say we won't

We're the semioticians of each other's discontent
And we try try try to punctuate these days with exclamations
So thank you for being the line I'm drawn to

We're still coming home every time we say we won't
We're still coming home every time we say we won't
Every time we say we won't

When "bound for glory" is a relative term
Whether grease or wrench,
We'll all find a place in the gears
Whether grease or wrench,
We'll be here to face another year

And we will face another year better together
Another year together