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