We’re sitting on the bleachers And we’re soaring through space Looking over all the fields where we used to play Cause my body is here right next to you But my head’s in another dimension Later at 7/11 The shelves are stretching outta control Everyone’s staring bullets Man I’m pretty sure they know We don’t gotta tell ‘em what’s inside It’s burning straight through our eyes I’m just trying to erase my brain I’m just trying to escape my brain And turn it off

They searched our pockets when we hit the gates I traded tallboys for a walk of shame 35 degrees in April Snow on the diamond and we’re playing baseball It’s apocalyptic in the bleachers Coors Field the Mets lost what else is new? We hit the Matchbox digital jukebox Dead Meadow jams nobody cared but us You said Denver’s like a ghost town Seems like a nice place but where the hell is everyone? Landlocked, marooned, no-coast island Far away from everything “yeah that’s why I like it” Stuck on the edge of the rest of our lives Waiting for summer, we’re frozen in time Rip your sleeves off and fry In the white-hot spring break ice 4/20 show at the Mouth House I’m referencing places that don’t exist now And the power went out So we sang extra loud 85 days until the All-Star Break Caught in a heat wave and stuck in last place There’s no escape

It was one of those mega-mall theaters We were bored and just killing time You said you’d seen it before But in the Colorado corn, our vegetation will erase your mind (Let it melt away) Set your brain to advanced decay (I just wanna fa-ade) into a vacant state If you’re trying to escape your fate I know a couple fun ways we could distract each other Tune it out, roll the windows down, yeah we can drown it all out In the feel good hit of the summer We watched him ripping through the heart of the wasteland It kinda looked just like the Western Slope And in the heavy Denver heat with all the smoke on the peaks I swear it looked just like Fury Road But we’re still burning fuel all summer Top-down Cruisin’ USA If the future seems bleak like it does on the screen that’s a problem for another day (Wash it all away) We’re sipping processed wheat from the fruited plains With some ice-cold cans from our fruited plains (I just wanna ta-aste) 
Those liquid waves of grain If you’re trying to escape your fate I know a couple fun ways we could distract each other Tune it out, roll the windows down, yeah we can drown it all out In the feel good hit of the summer And when the season changes We’ll deal with the heavy stuff Make time for contemplation Yeah at least until the summer comes Cause from the rotting motels of Seaside Heights To the sick smoggy sprawl of L.A. We’re sucking gasoline, cheap beer and dying dreams In the endless pursuit of escape But stuck here in the backseat With the wind blowing through our hair I still don’t know where we’re going but I’m running out of reasons to care Set free, unleashed! Sunburnt and wasted in the summer heat We were well-meaning kids chasing modest dreams to take flight in our fantasy machine, a 95 GMC, subtract the third row of seats, block out reality. but it crept in quietly, as we boomeranged from sea to rising sea on a tour of debauchery that started so harmlessly but is now an exercise in mental mastery, a Front Range escape into a larger state of denial and distaste. and when it all goes up in flames, we’ll ask ourselves, was it all worth the price to pay? save the answer for judgment day