shake and stir yourself into a bad excuse
a half-hearted 'fuck you'
imagine all the nowhere places we'd have been
and all cynicism aside, let me try to turn these awful words
into a cure, not a curse.
and i'm still drawn by the kid in the corner
and the lovely angels alone on benches
i'm still making pleas
to the kid whose clothes don't fit
who hasn't found himself just yet
let alone the chance to love
cross him off your list
and its piling up head over fist.
while you're making eyes across the room
they got caught standing bored by the sidewalk
they tried to turn the opera into a punk rock stage
they cut and run at such a tender age