Teardrops on a one-way Greyhound Ticket, she's mentally checked out like PayPal Ditching her step-dad, who's not Australian But his standards are way down, under Her eyelids it's starting to rain now She wonders if that syringe in her vein will clear up the rain clouds
He doesn't exactly fit in to the masculine Trap door that's been passed to him By his father, a proletariat blue collar He feels like he's wearing it around his neck "I don't have a son," he says "More like an embarrass-son, my wife didn't bear a son" Said son checks his reflection Then grabs the medicine, now over the clouds is where his son (sun) sets
The way they treat us is so cannibal Eat us, then put us down like old animals In double-W-2 my grandpa was 19, leading a tank I'm filling out my W-2 like I deserve this wage Yeah we lose sometimes, but we get W's too Question, why are the words "troubled" and "youth" So synonymous? I'm starting to think that the problem is you But don't worry, I'll keep "You" anonymous Like the kid who's crying in the bathroom While his parents fight in the backroom Yeah, you brought us into this world But we make up the world you brought us in, too (into)