Lock the door, drop the boots,
Wash the shit off my hands.
The world can fuck off for a while:
I got a bottle and a guitar.

Songwriting’s for idiots, yeah, it is.
I should be fucking sleeping,
But here I am, an asshole with a drink,
Trying to make sense of shit.
Sit on the bed, grab the neck,
Play a few chords, slur some words.
No one here will give a shit
About my stories or my songs.

Start singing some nonsense rhymes
About trash and trucks and loneliness.
Maybe I’ll sing about how drunk I am,
How my fingers fumble on the frets.
Maybe throw in a dead dinosaur
And a girl with milk-white eyes.

Songwriting is for idiots,
But I like to sing.
No one here to hear me,
No one here to judge me.
Just me and my guitar,
And a bottle of gin.

I keep on playing and singing
‘Cause it makes me feel something,
Even if it’s just pain or anger or shame,
Or the ghost of a memory,
Or a face I can’t forget.

I sing about Lorenzo, my best friend,
Who’s dead and buried somewhere far away.
I sing about Claire, the love of my life,
Who left me without a word or a trace.

Songwriting is for idiots
Who can’t let go,
Who can’t move on,
Who are too scared to live
And too cowardly to die.

I used to be a boy, now I’m a man.
I used to have a love, now I have a scar.
I’m just a fool with a guitar,
And a bunch of half-assed songs
That no one will ever hear.
But I like to sing, so fuck it.
I like to sing, even if it’s dumb.
I like to sing, even if it hurts.
I like to sing, even if I’m alone.
I like to sing, ’cause it’s all I have.

Songwriting is for idiots like me,
Who don’t know what else to do,
Who keep thinking about what they’ve lost,
Who can’t face the real world.
I wish I could be someone else
When I walk out that door.
I wish I could stop being myself,
But this is all I’ve got.

---

I gave these lyrics to Suno, along with the general style I wanted for the song, to hear how it would handle it through a full-song pass, not even the complex studio treatment I’ll use. I think the fourth album is going to come out alright.