Go home to your friends young man.
She doesn't need you today.
Go home to your friends, the outsider kids,
Who work menail jobs all day,
And read Kafka at night,
And read Sartre by canlelight.
Around the corner there's a beatnik
From 1958.
He has stories about Miles Davis.
So take off your shoes and set you a place.
Take off your shoes and set you a place.
Skaters built a half pipe here
Back in the 90's when it was in vogue.
Too young to be soldiers; hard to forget them.
The professors have passed by. We've been warned.
So much has been made of our crimes.
Easy drama, Hamlet: To die.
We have raged, but in our escaping
We have drawn our enemy's by our side.
And we work for companies like Atlas Butler,
We greet lazy hours with linguistics,
We play when we can on guitars owned by friends,
And it all ends like the age of innocence.
It all ends like the age of innocence.
So go home to your friends young man.
She doesn't need you today.
There's a mountain beside you,
And I do believe you know your place.
I do believe you know your place.
Some say he's a woman.
Some say she's a child.
At night's end she bays tacitly,
And prays-dreams-hopes for the cultivated kind.
It has been so long since one came here.
The T.V.'s silhouette scampers on an empty wall.
Genius, you were right,
The hands of time rule over us all.
Today I was a cook
And I cooked you something sad.
And you baked me royal biscuits
That could very well go bad.
So go home to your friends young man.
She doesn't need you today.
She's off in the mountains with her loved ones.
So find truths others cannot say.
You touch her picture with your fingertips.
Your mud and oil has something to say.
You loosen your thoughts to put life on a page.
Posterity will stake your claim.
Posterity will stake your claim.
