Outside
I'm on the outside looking in. I mean literally of course, I'm in the beach house with all its glass walls looking out at the image of perfection. Proud father watching over the barbeque one hand wrapped round a glass of beer the other flippin' burgers and caressing his wife's hair. The son with his prize of a girlfriend sharing a joke being the charming Seth Cohen babbling in that charming way he always does.
If I didn't know the truth behind the image, the scars, the lies, the mistakes I might think I didn't belong. But I don't think that... at least not anymore. When I first came here I was jumpier than a caged rat, waiting to be asked to leave or just plain kicked out. I came from the wilds of the urban jungle drug riddled drink drowned Chino, a place that reeked of poverty and violence. Then I landed here by some fluke of fate. Newport; money central the air here smells like the cloying perfume of rich housewives and the secret stench of corruption and deceit. Of course I didn't catch that whiff for a while, but you can't stand in the same room as Caleb for too long without detecting that particular smell.
I used to think the image was the truth, of course it's a lie not one big lie it's more like the mesh of a thousand white lies. Like the way Sandy casually sips his beer, he told me once he doesn't much like the taste of a corona but it reminds him "of the old days" back when he was just some street-smart Jewish kid in New York, before college and Kirsten and life in the rich lane. Or how 'bout Seth and his babbling, everyone sitting there knows it's a cover partly for his own constant insecurities that he's not good enough for his parents and he'll never be good enough for Summer. Very few people know that Seth at his happiest and most secure is actually pretty quiet. At least there only little lies I can live with little lies when you look at the whole picture.
I only came here to grab a shirt even Newport get's a bit cold sometimes. When I turn the handle I can feel warmth not from the sun, from the smile Sandy grins as he surreptitiously hands me a beer, earning a glare from Kirsten and protests from Seth but it's all so sweet and domesticated. Tell me lies, sweet little lies.
I'm on the outside looking in. I mean literally of course, I'm in the beach house with all its glass walls looking out at the image of perfection. Proud father watching over the barbeque one hand wrapped round a glass of beer the other flippin' burgers and caressing his wife's hair. The son with his prize of a girlfriend sharing a joke being the charming Seth Cohen babbling in that charming way he always does.
If I didn't know the truth behind the image, the scars, the lies, the mistakes I might think I didn't belong. But I don't think that... at least not anymore. When I first came here I was jumpier than a caged rat, waiting to be asked to leave or just plain kicked out. I came from the wilds of the urban jungle drug riddled drink drowned Chino, a place that reeked of poverty and violence. Then I landed here by some fluke of fate. Newport; money central the air here smells like the cloying perfume of rich housewives and the secret stench of corruption and deceit. Of course I didn't catch that whiff for a while, but you can't stand in the same room as Caleb for too long without detecting that particular smell.
I used to think the image was the truth, of course it's a lie not one big lie it's more like the mesh of a thousand white lies. Like the way Sandy casually sips his beer, he told me once he doesn't much like the taste of a corona but it reminds him "of the old days" back when he was just some street-smart Jewish kid in New York, before college and Kirsten and life in the rich lane. Or how 'bout Seth and his babbling, everyone sitting there knows it's a cover partly for his own constant insecurities that he's not good enough for his parents and he'll never be good enough for Summer. Very few people know that Seth at his happiest and most secure is actually pretty quiet. At least there only little lies I can live with little lies when you look at the whole picture.
I only came here to grab a shirt even Newport get's a bit cold sometimes. When I turn the handle I can feel warmth not from the sun, from the smile Sandy grins as he surreptitiously hands me a beer, earning a glare from Kirsten and protests from Seth but it's all so sweet and domesticated. Tell me lies, sweet little lies.