I'm in a book,
for you to read and then throw out.
I wasn't born,
I was just dropped into your arms.
Well mom I've been bad and,
I wanna come home.
You couldnt breathe,
with all those doctors at your side,
but your talkin to me,
sayin I wish that I had died.
'Cause I'm the end product,
crushed in your hands,
I wanna come home on the F train.
And you're just a paper book,
floating through the gutter,
lost at sea drift to me,
and into someones nightmares.
A home is a highway,
your pillows a rock,
I'm in a rusted car bound to get lost.