Hookah bars and coffee shops and finding what it really means to think,
pages upon pages taking space up underneath the kitchen sink,
when you realize all you know is just a closet full of useless data sheets,
and the punchline's that you knew it all along,
but the truth was blinding.
Chronicles of lovers lost, you swear that they were better left behind,
it's they who breed the problems, we're the answers that they're far too young to find,
and its this that keeps the others thinking we could be the fillers in their songs,
but there's a lyric in their rhetoric that's tellin' me they knew it all along.
And time's just a healer for the sick,
And times far too old to be this quick,
And time and time and time and time again
You find yourself a hippie nomad girl in an orthodox-long skirt,
She asks you if you think that love's a vice, you say "ya but it could work,"
...while i dream of independent love, we'll sing and kiss just as we wanted to,
where desire precedes action not an endless game of signs to misconstrue.
And time's just a healer for the sick,
And times far too old to be this quick,
And time and time and time and time again
So we spend our years prolonging death-some with health food, others under knives,
We skip to read the ending, then we salvage what it is we've left to find,
well I wanna be oblivious but i just can't shake the rational mind's eye,
While i peer out half-closed fingers like a child who's told he shouldn't stare at life.
And time's just a healer for the sick,
....And time's far too old to be this quick,
and time and time and time and time again.