It was Don Delillo, whiskey,
And a blinking midnight clock
Speakers on a TV stand
Just a turntable to watch
Only smoke came out our mouths
On all those hooded sweatshirt walls
We were a stroke of luck
You were a gold mine that gutted us

And from the sidelines you'd seen me run
Until I'm out of breath
Living the good life, I left for dead
The sorrowful Midwest
Well I did my best
To keep my head

It was grass stain jeans and incompletes
And a girl from class to touch
But you think about yourself too much
And you ruin who you love
Well all these claims at consciousness
My straight on freedom
Let's have a nice clean cut
Like a bag we buy and divy up

And from the sidelines I see you run
Until you're out of breath
And all those white lines that sped us up
We hurried to our death
Well I lagged behind
So you got ahead