Couch Surfing

Well I haven't paid rent for a month or more

I'm couch surfing

And I don't have a key cause I don't have a door

I'm couch surfing

I'm not answering questions

I'm between houses

Of my material possessions I've lost track

I didn't need them

Everything I need fits in my backpack

I call it freedom

A pair of jeans some shirts and a guitar lead

A toothbrush, socks and a paperback reader

All the rest is what's hanging off of me

And I'm not taking calls

I'm between houses

Outside the night is dark and stormy

And you blew up the air mattress for me

We'll talk all night like an open book

And I'll sleep on every breath you took

Before you leave I'll sneak a look up at you

But there's an old saying that could bare retelling

When you're couch surfing:

'the guest should leave before the fish starts smelling'

When your couch surfing

It's romantically existential

To reduce your life to the bare essential

All that which is inconsequential guides me

But this whole theory really depends

On weather or not you've got good friends

And all this weightlessness the philosopher preach

Reduces you to societies leach

But tonight I've landed on my feet

I'm still one friend away from the bum on the street

And I've used up all my good will vouchers

On every single friend with couches

It won't be long before they'll ask me to leave

It's time I cut myself some keys

Give me a pen I'll sign a lease and go get me a home