| Here I am, where I’ve been
|
| I’ve walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin
|
| And my clothes are worn & gritty
|
| And I know ugliness
|
| Now show me something pretty
|
| I was a dumb punk kid with nothing to lose
|
| And too much weight for walking shoes
|
| I could have died from being boring
|
| As for loneliness
|
| She greets me every morning
|
| At the most I’m a glare
|
| I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there
|
| I’m the open sign that’s always busted
|
| I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted
|
| At the most I’m a glare
|
| I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there
|
| I’m the open sign that’s always busted
|
| I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted
|
| Here I am, where I’ve been
|
| I’ve walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin
|
| And my clothes are worn & gritty
|
| And I know ugliness
|
| Now show me something pretty
|
| At the most I’m a glare
|
| I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there
|
| I’m the open sign that’s always busted
|
| I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted
|
| At the most I’m a glare
|
| I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there
|
| I’m the open sign that’s always busted
|
| I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted |