You were born the day that Ginsberg died
To a poet and his immigrant wife
In a town that was borderline comatised
Growing up smacking your head on the ceiling
You were never gonna be a varsity jacket
Rehab graduate, rich kid with God on the payroll
Someone whose folks are hoping they made a stunt double

Young or old, we're all in the dark
Come on back here, whatever you are

You're not anything you thought you'd be
Every morning like a codе machine
Hotwiring your heart so it beats еnough
To get you from the bed to the window
American dream tucked under your arm
Whatever that means, whatever you are
Nobody here is needing you yet
Not sure you got any good excuses left

Young or old, we're all in the dark
Come on back here, whatever you are
Saint or psycho, the sum of broken parts
I'll still hold you, whatever you are

The speakers ablare, there's salt in the air
They're calling the cops, I'm trying to care
I'm raising my voice up at you
What's a little more noise on South Street?
If they're selling the block, it's all gonna change
You're losing your hair, it brings out your face
You're striking out, firing off
Everything you think's worth holding onto
Your brother is fine, I won't let him drink
Your dad's gonna cry, your mom's gonna drink
Every single night until Sunday
I'll remind them that you're not dead yet
And I'll watch the dogs, they'll sleep on your bed
You'll leave when it's light, and I'll be a wreck
But you'll get a chance to be someone
That you didn’t grow up hating