it was don delillo, whiskey neat, and a blinking midnight clock speakers on a tv stand, just a turntable to watch when the smoke came out our mouths on all those hooded sweatshirt walks you were a stroke of luck we were a goldmine and they gutted us and from the sidelines you see 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 stained 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 stray dog freedom let’s have a nice clean cut like a bag we buy and divvy 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 hurry to our death well i lagged behind so you got ahead