G#m                           F#               E
Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored of life in the district
G#m                                  F#                  E
Can't afford the French Quarter High, says it gets old real quick
      G#m                 F#               E
And he pales up next to me, scrawled on the pavement
       G#m             F#               E
He says son, time is all the luck you need

    B                       B
But if I stay lucky then my tongue 'll stay tied
     G#m                F#             E
And I won't betray the things that I hide
       B                      B
There's not enough years underneath this build
    G#m            F#            E
For me to admit the way that I felt

G#m                   F#               E
Mean Mr. Mustard says don't be the wave that crashes
G#m                       F#                        E
From a sea of discontent, he says he's wrestled with that blanket
G#m                         F#         E
It leaves you cold and wet, anyway you stretch it
G#m                              F#                   E
Divine apathy, the disease of my youth, watch that you don't catch it

F#                           E
Down the wave that crashes, from
F#                E
A sea that turns itself
F#                       E
Inside out every chance I get
F#                     E
See what it's like in hell, yeah yeah