YEARBOOK OBITUARY Verse 1 Weather drowned my favorite vinyl,floating face-up in the street.Like Ophelia with a driver's licenseand cheap headphones on repeat. Small-town gossip travels fasterthan the ambulances do.Everybody's got a headline,nobody's got a clue. I never liked Barbies,never looked good in pink.Preferred skateboards over shopping malls,which apparently means I think. Too much.Too loud.Too weird.Too blunt. Funny how they call you "different"when they're all dressed up the same. Pre-Chorus Bell rings.Another episode. Everybody smile for the yearbook photo. Chorus We're all getting out alive—or at least that's the rumor.Surviving American high schoolshould come with dark humor. Everybody's somebody,everybody's screwed.Everybody's faking confidencein bathroom mirrors too. Hey, hey—what a beautiful mess we're in. Hey, hey—see you tomorrow again. Verse 2 Traffic jam at 7:40,Honda Civic held togetherby caffeine, hope,and one mysterious rattle. I hear Britney Spears approachingbefore the parking lot appears. "Womanizer, womanizer..." God is testing me this year. Cheer captain sipping iced lattes,quarterback with perfect teeth.Both look like they're selling heaven. Both look exhausted underneath. Meanwhile I'm holding matchawith chipped black nail polish hands,looking like I escaped Hot Topicduring some sort of evacuation plan. Pre-Chorus Bell rings.Another funeral. For the version of yourselfthat wanted to be cool. Chorus We're all getting out alive—or at least that's the rumor.Surviving American high schoolshould come with dark humor. Everybody's somebody,everybody's screwed.Everybody's faking confidencein bathroom mirrors too. Hey, hey—what a beautiful mess we're in. Hey, hey—see you tomorrow again. Bridge The prom queen's crying in chemistry. The jock can't sleep at night. The theater kid's writing poetryabout disappearing from sight. The goth girl jokes about dying. The honor student's running on fumes. The guidance counselor says,"Find yourself." Between Algebra and homeroom. Sure. That sounds reasonable. Final Chorus We're all getting out alive—or at least that's the rumor. Some of us with battle scars,some with a sense of humor. Everybody wants a placewhere they don't have to pretend. Turns out the freaks and the Barbieswere looking for the same thing in the end. Hey, hey—what a beautiful mess we've been. Hey, hey—look at us surviving. Outro The yearbook said: "Best years of your life." That joke still kills me… Yearbook obituary, Yesrbook obituary, Yearbook…
