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Same old pub with the same old folk The same sticky table made of chestnut oak Same old stout and the same bad jokes And we laugh and we sway almost every other day And it's true what they say We don't belong here, no, we don't belong here Was it worth the wait? He wished away every day When I was a young boy, I dreamed of being an adult Now I long for the simplicity of being a reckless child Throwing stones, climbing trees, digging holes Decades later, brittle bones Mental disease, financial goals, I've become my own traitor And every day this town becomes a little part of me Still, every day a part of this town grows apart from me Yes, and every day I find myself understandably misunderstood Yes, and every day I develop more love and hate for this place that we call Brentwood Same old T-shirt and the same old jeans Same old footpaths and muddy ravines Same reality and the same old dreams I wanted to feel like a ship but instead I'm a submarine Submerged in fickle shit I don't belong here, no, I don't belong here Was it worth the wait? He wished away every day Letras de cancionesWhen I was a young boy, I dreamed of being an adult Now I long for the simplicity of being a reckless child You made a wish, blew out the flames, ate the icing on the He-Man cake Now that's finished, we're not the same This is precisely what young David said was fake And every day this town becomes a little part of me Still, every day, part of this town grows apart from me (Yes) Yeah, and every day I find myself understandably misunderstood (Yes) Yeah, and every day I develop more love and hate for this place that we call Brentwood I'm trying to belittle the way I used to think And I'm trying to be committal, but the foundations still sink I keep telling myself that it'll be the same in any other town If you switch all the names around, it'll still be Brentwood town If you switch the letters around, you're left with bored town Was it worth the wait? He wished away every day When I was a young boy, I dreamed of being an adult Now I long for the simplicity of being a reckless child We would bunk school and get shitty grades We'd smoke and laugh until we could not breathe Never play the storms. we don't get paid We're not chief of staff, we're still so naive Yes, and every day this town becomes a little part of me Still, every day a part of this town grows apart from me Yes, and every day I find myself understandably misunderstood Yes, and every day I develop more love and hate for this place that we call Brentwood From Letras Mania