Some Came Running

out on the road little boys let their beards grow

oh so busy talking about the things that we don't know

all done worrying about the things we used to be

(i'm too busy finding out what i'm gonna be)

and finding weapons of mass destruction

to combat this boredom that claws at my eyes, my ears

no longer can i worry about whether these words

have touched you or failed you...

fuck, you're too busy bitching about

clothes that do not fit

"so play the violins"

i'll keep getting in the van

worry about money for the rest of my life

just so that you can have this to talk about

our time is to spend time with you

and if you don't want it well that's fine too

walk right out that door

this room was growing cold with you

this room that is my home

and i cannot

and i must not

and i will not

let clean shaven boys that all look the same

toss hand grenades into this my faith