Great Western / the Blues, the Greens, the Reds
Wide open eyes
See my world in sepia and white
Long broken ties
Turn loved ones into people I despise
I dream of breaking all my fingers
Tired of seeing them turning into
Things I wish I didn't write
This fretboard's left its share of splinters
Tired of seeing arseholes get
Exactly what they want from life
I am a disease
I'll fall for anyone who catches me
Clouds coat the sky
As I watch Great Western homes float by
Unspoken lies
Tell myself I shouldn't lead that life
I think while driving down the freeway
Words I wrote when I was teenaged
Shouldn't still be relevant now
I'll pack my sorrows in a briefcase
Pray that every day's a sick day
But I'm too scared to find out
We could be living on acres of land
Halfway from here to Adelaide
Until we get sick of the view
I could be living in piles of garbage
Or out sleeping in the rain
If I had a taste for the blues
Writer/s: Luke Seymoup
