| He’s thinking of the hungry rats
|
| Inside his stomach and he knows that
|
| Nothing ever changes anyway
|
| He can see himself there
|
| He knows that look, it’s called despair
|
| His father taught him to wear it well
|
| So he put his ear to the door of his youth
|
| And he heard a groundswell of remorse now
|
| There’s no splendid isolation
|
| For the abandoned generation
|
| It gets hard to maintain
|
| When the brightest of shells
|
| Weather and fade anyway
|
| Do what you can before it’s too late
|
| Arms stretched, she’s on her back
|
| Her hollow words ring from her past
|
| She’s been running from that every day
|
| She can see herself there
|
| She knows that look, it’s called despair
|
| Her mother taught her to wear it well
|
| She puts her ear to the door of her youth
|
| And she heard a groundswell of remorse now
|
| There’s no splendid isolation
|
| For the abandoned generation
|
| It gets hard to maintain
|
| When the brightest of shells
|
| Weather and fade anyway
|
| Do what you can before it’s too late
|
| I spent a lifetime searching with tired eyes
|
| I had the best intentions but they went away |