Real Problems

Everybody thinks they've got real problems
Everybody's dealt a hand that no one else could play
People try to say they've got bad karma
Shuffle all their cards and hope there's something new they'll say
Why not turn the pages back more often?
Analyze the way your life became a big cliche
Fix your clothes and climb inside your coffin
Cause no one ever told you it was gonna be okay

Everybody knows they got real problems
Inclined to climb the mountain but we struggle hopelessly
There's way too much pressure to acknowledge
That we are not the only ones who ended up this way
You should turn the pages back more often
Take your secrets to the grave before they float away
Brace yourself to bare the weight of your actions
We can't sit around and wait for gravity to calm down

Tired eyes focused on the freeway
Steer your car towards a Florida license plate
And now there's no way for you to keep up with the pace
Everyone cutting corners in a constant chase

Your eyes, they would wrap right around me
There were holes, open spaces so empty
Time moves slow until the sun soaks into the sea

When you get back in the morning
Save your apologies, just ignore me
With your back against the counter
Rip this card up, take another

When I'm fucked up, call my brother
I see myself stuck in the mirror
With these pressed pants like my father
There's too many things
(But I was really hoping that you wouldn't go)
(I can't make it out, I'm too low)
(Time soaks up the sun, it's so slow)
(Is it impossible? I don't know)
Where I'm supposed to go now

Everybody thinks they got real problems
Everybody's dealt a hand that no one else could play