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