Tom: G#m
G#m F# E
Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored of life in the district
G#m F# E
Can't afford the French Quarter High, says it gets old real quick
G#m F# E
And he pales up next to me, scrawled on the pavement
G#m F# E
He says son, time is all the luck you need
B B
But if I stay lucky then my tongue 'll stay tied
G#m F# E
And I won't betray the things that I hide
B B
There's not enough years underneath this build
G#m F# E
For me to admit the way that I felt
G#m F# E
Mean Mr. Mustard says don't be the wave that crashes
G#m F# E
From a sea of discontent, he says he's wrestled with that blanket
G#m F# E
It leaves you cold and wet, anyway you stretch it
G#m F# E
Divine apathy, the disease of my youth, watch that you don't catch it
F# E
Down the wave that crashes, from
F# E
A sea that turns itself
F# E
Inside out every chance I get
F# E
See what it's like in hell, yeah yeah
