Lost Boys Video (MV)

I know a lot of lost boys who've found each other
They haven't really found their way though
Mostly they just band together
To see if they can't make something beautiful

Don't get me wrong
I love lost boys and beautiful things
It just seems a little careless
To go around without a map or a compass
I'm sort of charmed - they seem like they could care less
Maybe they know something I don't
Maybe Godot just hasn't shown up yet

See, I'm an artist, I like to draw
Lately it's been flowers and cracks
So maybe I'm trying to draw myself a map
Sometimes I draw people in
It's when I'm feeling lonesome
And think they might complete the scene
Sometimes they like me
But I don't know where I'm going

See maps are a marvelous thing
You just pick a destination
Go for a while
And then arrive
And trust me I've tried
But every time I get lost in the terrain
And find myself gazing at the gradients in the sky
I always care more about the gradients in the sky
Than the stars telling me where to go

It's like picking a place to eat
I never really know what I'm feeling
And the same is true for my drawing
See drawing is really hard
It hurts my eyes
It kills people wrists
But wrists are better stressed than slit
So I think most artists choose the lesser evil

And I don't think they get enough credit for their bravery
A blank canvas is a f*cking terrifying thing
I usually blank when I'm faced with one
I am no god
I have no idea how to create something from nothing
So I draw from a combination of what I've seen
And my dreams

It's the same for my poetry
These are all words someone's said before
Just in different order
Technically I'm just a lyric whore

And the thoughts are stolen too
From somewhere in my memory
I'm just one of those lost boys
In a band of f*cking thieves

But I stay near the edge of camp
So every day I can go exploring
And every morning, I write on my arm
'What kind of person do you want to be?'

See
It's right there
I should just get it tattooed
But I hate things that are permanent
They remind me of what I'm not
And that's skin not paper
When I'm dead I think it might rot
Plus I'm terrified of needles

So I'm okay with writing it every day
And I'm okay with being temporary
Some days are long enough
And I'm not egotistical enough
To think that times I've had are anything but the past

Right now I'm working to fill the top floor
Of a building with flowers and cracks
And it'll all be whitewashed in four months time
And I think that's kind of depressing, and kind of sublime

I still don't know where I'm going
But I'm okay with it being temporary
The feelings, and people
And the things I'll have done
I know the second I speak these words
They're already gone
But that's okay
Because in their place
Is silence