Somewhere Around 1 Am On The Western Trail I Let My Excesses Get The Better Of Me And I Started To Wax Philisophically On The Ins And Outs Of Our Youth. Could This Be Anymore Awkward I Don't Know. I Think That I Think More When I'm In Love, Falling Asleep On A Stranger's Couch. Counting Down Calender Days. Summer's Over, And Our Routine's Older. Nobody's Wiser And Nobody's Feeling The Same As They Did Last Summer. When Plane Rides Were All The Rage. Still Got My Ticket Stub Stuffed In My Wallet. Can't Compete With The Continents And I Can't Compete With Time, But I'll Try, I'll Try, I'll Try. Now This Is Either The Last Song For You Or The First One For Me. Miss Me Miss Me, Now You've Gotta Kiss Me. But Only If You Mean It, And Only If You Know What It Means To Me. And The Question Marks Touch Down With A Statement I've Been Trying To Write All Day. To All Of The Thinkers And Traveling Singers, Dorm Room Philosophers At Home Or Abroad, I Leave You With One Litte Piece Of Me Before I Go Sending You Off...I Hope That I'm Wrong. I Hope That I'm Wrong.