on the playground you learned
how to share with the kids,
but you still didn’t feel you fit in.
how fitting, your confusion when you turned sixteen
you knew how to paint by numbers,
but you knew it wasn’t rock and roll.
you learned tight pants, spray-paint and eyeliner.
you said glam-rock would save your soul.
but you didn’t grasp that the rebellion you wanted
wasn’t something you can ever be sold.
and i never understood how someone
could be so willing to be absorbed
into what i never though could be pass as identity
and i always felt bad for the kids
who had to share their faces
with sad teenagers across the world
who'd found something to fill their loss,
without ever addressing the cause.
and i heard your speech patterns imitated exactly,
by a girl in seattle and again in minneapolis.
so i guess he must of learned that from tv.
you said you’d find yourself for real
but fell that far from the goal.
you had to paint by numbers,
but knew it wasn’t r-r-r-rock and roll.