I'm not quite sure how to get out on my own
Hell froze over again
it's called my hometown
it's cold, burning at my fingers like frostbite -
it's warm, the water thawed and the bugs biting -
it's full of shit, lies and inauthenticity with legs.
it sucks, nothing to do but dream.
maybe one day we'll get out clean?
doubtful, the drugs aren't on the streets, they're in homes -
sex isn't between the sheets, it's at the park.
maybe some live comfortably, but that doesn't mean it's happy.
well, hey, we're determined not to die here:
when we're fifty we'd rather be a trailer park.
when we're seventy we'd rather be dead.
the toxins of here are lacing through our skins:
some of us don't know, born with IV's hooked up.
some us don't want to, tired of the truth, happy living the lie.
some of us don't care - they've lost all will for suicide, but they're just too scared to die.
fuck this town;
fuck your fake happy life;
your two children, fighting over TV remotes.
wait until they know,
their dreams are episodes.
wait until they know,
how kids will mock their northsider insides.
wait until they know,
how they'll be too scared to go outside.