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There she goes, the girl with the thorns |
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A crowd to which she was born |
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She gets lost and torn, at times in a war, |
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Looking for sinking scores |
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There's a boy, in constant dismay, |
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Crowding in the doorway, |
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Thinking of rooms, all painted pale blue |
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Are we just walking through? |
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Hmmm... It's a vacant youth. |
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So come all you youth, vacant in truth |
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Take your seat on the floor |
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We blew out the walls, with our youthful wrongs |
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But hey, we still got those songs |
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Hmmm... It's a vacant youth. |
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So hey misanthrope, you terrible joke, |
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Do the women come and go? |
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Well "fashionable quote" and Michelangelo |
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Look all too painfully wrote |
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Hmmm... It's a vacant youth |
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Sons of daughters, daughters of fathers |
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Those barren-railed plans we become |
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A job in defense, for a white picket fence |
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Well, I wish you well in the end |
