February cried itself to sleep last night
because it didn't have a holiday to share
So they made a day of love,
and named a massacre
I hope we never live to see the latter

There's no answer, all your worries will come true
So I'll be home on weekdays, spend my nights with you
You're breaking up; reception's never been that clear
and when you get back from Nebraska I'll be here

So tell me what's the secret to finding things to do in a place that's always dead... we're tired anyway. At least it keeps us happy.. I hope that you're happy.
Cross your fingers into mine, and say you never want to leave. Tightly curled up in your room; singing Brand New songs off key.

Pretend it's not so late... I don't want to go home just yet.