Passing Bell

They've been digging a grave up in red hook for me
With boxes of records from that old punk rock scene
But they won't let me play my own farewell party
I wrote all these songs just learn i can't sing
They've been planning a murder in new paltz today
It's a hit on a band in an art house cafe
As my last note rings out the crowd cheers hooray
We hate you, you're leaving, we're glad you can't stay
There's an empty room in the club down the street
Where the ghosts play songs that never made it to print
And they float through cars down the hudson river line
Where they pine "these are my friends, this is my time"
I've been walking the plank off the hudson valley
Marching at sword point to the depths of the sea
Chained down with boxes of my old ep
I wrote all these words to ensure i sink deep
They've been planning a hanging down in new rochelle
Where i'll swing like the tongue on the old passing bell
And they'll all have a party to divvy up my will
I hate you, i'm leaving, i'll see you in hell
There's an empty room in the basement underneath
A new york house where the choir used to meet
And they blow through hymns in double time
Just to find you are my friends, you are my kind
There's a jam-packed room in the bar down the street
Where they know my songs and they sing them with me
But i still miss matt(s) and i miss what i sang when we began
"these were my friends, this was my plan"
They've been digging a grave in ct for a king
With guitars for shovels and drum to lay in
And we'll all wait around for his next of kin
I wrote all these songs just to prove i'm something