What Fucking Ian Guy? Lyrics

You said you'd rather sleep with friends

I'd prefer the comfort of my own bed

With my head on a pillow resting

Not passed out in the kitchen

I'll never go out on the weekends

That's not what I do with my best friends

We're all lonely guys drinking coffee and record collecting

All of my books look well-read

I built a time machine from a cassette deck

My room's in a constant mess but that's nothing compared to my head

And since the last time that we spoke it seems you've grown awfully cold

Starting fires in the back of churches to keep you warm until the morning

And I know long ago we were best friends but I don't want to hear your opinion

There's too much distance in the way you speak, my patience is growing thin

I'd rather stay at home reading chick lit than watch you act so awfully pretentious

It's true I've got some guilty pleasures but I've learned to live with it

So here's to one more Summer in the back seat of your car

And here's to one more Winter spent in our tents down by the river

And here's to the moment that we washed our hands of obligation

Our youth is fleeting

It's not something you're stealing