Your Mantra - Into It. Over It.

Piling old knickknacks into the back of her car

A now swollen four-door Honda in blue

Leaving one worn-out industrial town in hopes of selling off gifts I had gotten

from you

But, I haven’t sold a thing

Which leads me to believe

I’m just repeating repeating repeating repeating repeating

The same sorry cycle as when I was fifteen

Well, I’m completely aware of how boring this is

My back’s grown sore from still standing still, standing those

Who brought chairs as they can sit back and watch

As all of the small crowd files out

And, as we close up shop, I’ve spent more than I’ve earned

A trait in me you’d seem to admire

But you’ve spent the last of our common sense on selling off the old and expired

We hadn’t sold a thing

Reminding me of you

Just repeating repeating repeating repeating your mantra

«Out with the old and in without you»