Songs for Tourists - Courtney Marie Andrews

Songs for tourists;

some from France

They like the ones with weird instruments

Songs for people that I used to know

They send me invites, but I never go

An ode to heavy eyes, too much space

Too much time to think about this awful place

I’ve got nothin' to prove: I ain’t nothin' but molecules

I’m doin' nothin' but wastin' words and breakin' my own rules

So I’ve broken a heart or two, who’s to say mine ain’t fucked?

Who’s to say I mean anything to anyone?

They’re throwin' coins in the case, I’m singin' out your name

But sayin' the truth out loud, it just ain’t the same

We’re crossin' state lines, robbin' rich food banks

I tried to call you from a payphone last night in some southern state

An ode to our traveling band whose home is the time it takes

To get from gas stations to the ends of interstates

I’m livin' in this sleepin' bag, what city am I in?

I’ve taken advantage, I miss my best friend

So maybe I’ve taken you for granted, maybe it’s the mind-frame I’m in

None of it means anything if you’re alone in the end