Lyrics

All the little black circles
Of mold on the bathroom door
And all the straight black lines
Of grime in the grout on the floor
I don't mind anymore
I don't care if my house is clean
Pizza boxes by the front door
It is what it is, so it seems
Yeah

Wish I were stranded on a desert island
Eating coconuts by the score
Or in a yurt on the wild tundra
Like Bon Iver, only even more so
Even more so
Even more so
It's better to be alone
Yeah

So that's what you get
When you're a martyr to the Craigslist cause
Take it easy, baby
You're taking this all too serious
Saints wouldn't care
About the slime in the crisper drawer
Joan of Arc was an athlete
With feet that burned like fire
Yeah

Wish I were stranded on a desert island
Eating coconuts by the score
Or in a yurt on the wild tundra
Like Bon Iver, only even more so
Even more so
Even more so
It's better to be alone
Yeah

All the little black circles
Of mold on the bathroom door
And all the straight black lines
Of grime in the grout on the floor