Good days hit me like a ball or a frisbee,

And what matters most are the people with me.

I could be lying in the heat with bugs in my hair,

But hey, who cares? 'Cause my friends are there.

But good days come in different types,

And the best day of all, well, it's at night.

Summer nights, at 8 pm.

When the sun has set and breeze kicks in.

Sitting round the fire, s'mores in hand

Fighting over what makes a good band.

It's dark, so they can't see the smile on my face:

God, I never want to leave this place.