Walking around, looking down
For something better
There's nothing better
Same old weird and familiar sound
It's just you leaving town, my God
August came around

 [bad word] and leaves you with a fever
That you caught
When you were young
Summer goes, makes you feel like life is real
And hanging on for more

Empty streets, empty me
Call me vagabond
Wondering in the sun
This is getting sort of old
Wandering aimlessly
Is it empty streets or empty me?

Hanging, hanging
Holding on for me, hoping, praying
This will all start over [bad word] back for me
We will walk the streets
Of this old town
Make me a promise
This will [bad word] back around