Lost little children blow smoke
Through raindrops and leaves and empty spaces
And make wishes on invisible stars
Because they gave up believing in magic
When they smoked their first joint.
McDonalds will cure the munchies
Like a joint will kill the sadness
That an abusive parent causes.

It’s a messed up, crazy world,
Ain’t nothing sane about it,
So put us out into the cold,
And we’re still going to shout it,
The rapist and the mother
Are the same in the end,
Both a grown-up baby
In a city that never ends.

They all show similarities,
In red eyes and slurred speech,
And differences, like in the kindness
That they show to a stranger, or the laughter
They toss at a friend.
Rain can’t dampen the spirits
Of a couple of stoned friends,
But it ruins the day of the tagalong girl.

It’s a messed up, crazy world,
Ain’t nothing sane about it,
So put us out into the cold,
And we’re still going to shout it,
The rapist and the mother
Are the same in the end,
Both a grown-up baby
In a city that never ends.

He goes through cigarettes
Like most people go through paper dishes
But this paper plane has broken wings,
And no “please fasten your seatbelts” sign
And when it crashes, this world is going to hell.
The black smoke of cancer sticks
Sticks to lungs and coats fingers with dirty smells
Like that of smoky hell.