EVERYTHING GETS OLD
Written and performed by Dylan Owen
Produced by Skinny Atlas
Co-produced by Jason Moss
Backing vocals by Alaska Sun
Backing vocals by Dylan Nowik
Guitar by Dylan Nowik
Violin by Gabe Valle
Mixed by Jason Moss at Millennial Studios
Mastered by John Scrip at Massive Studios
Inspired by the hope that we are all infinite.
Driving down the interstate, it’s 2 am I’m infinite
Wondering if I can make this last before it finishes
These front porches haven’t taken down their Christmas shit, from last year
They want more from life, if it exists
I guess we’re all looking forward to us shining
A couple holidays from now we’ll all be fine when
We finally get a chance to walk along horizons
Or we’re bored of trying, organized, and 45 and tired
We were shopping mall pilgrims, outlaws at yard sales
We wrote our names in ash and cigarettes on guardrails
So if they do report me missing and my car bails
I was 21 the day the engine in my heart failed
Someday I wanna leave the state, move away and gone
Every wrinkle in my face says I’m aging wrong
Wake up in a diner playing 80s graduation songs
And start to wonder if my generation’s days are lost
Orchestrate the horns, tires hit the rain
I’m driving singing prayers that I compiled on the way
Cause heaven’s just a car crash away from real life
Until then I’ll never know what paradise feels like
Yeah, well everything gets old
Everything gets dusty, everything gets cold
Until we do it all again without the interruptions
And no longer can recognize the houses we grew up in
Yeah, well everything gets old
Everything gets vintage, everything lets go
Until tomorrow when we find a better way to end the century
And suddenly we recognize the people that we’re meant to be
As I’m driving down the interstate, it’s 4 am I’m infinite
Wondering if I can make this last before it finishes
Is this great stillness all we’re really out to find?
Is there a pot of gold at the end of the power lines?
We hopped fences, over garage centers and
Hopelessly lost tenants of the parking lot perspective
Tired of broken Hondas, tires that blow up on us
Someday we’ll grow up and be local rock legends
Who stopped pretending, I don’t wanna be that lost
Convinced my ticket out isn't a scratch off
We found hope in a melody, it was just a riff
The song says there’s more to life, but it’s just a myth
Speeding past the gallery of lights
Lead me off into the blanket of the night
Because I would rather crash my car on purpose
Than grow up to be a person who’s unhappy with an accidental life
When everything gets old, everything gets dusty, everything gets cold
We’ll finally do it all again without the interruptions
And we’ll no longer recognize the houses we grew up in
Yeah, well everything gets old
Everything gets dusty, everything gets cold
Until we do it all again without the interruptions
And no longer can recognize the houses we grew up in
Yeah, well everything gets old
Everything gets vintage, everything lets go
Until tomorrow when we find a better way to end the century
And suddenly we recognize the people that we’re meant to be