There’s a house on the opposite side of the street
Where I hear what you tell me over the music
Where no one asks if I use it

There’s a place in this house I forget why and where
If you blow out the candles and tie back your hair
You’re forgiven for leaving, for lying, for scheming, and buying, for breathing, and dying

Alone, don’t you go back home
Don’t you dare go down on your knees as you crawl through the streets now you’re grown

There’s a room where your mother keeps all that you’ve burned
And your father in patience awaits your return
And they hide it in mothballs and keep out of reach

But in the summer there’s boys kissing boys by the pool
And the last day she drives you she drives you to school
And you wonder if there is anything there left to teach
You were taught to stay

Alone, don’t you go back home
Don’t you dare fall back on your knees as you crawl through the streets now you’ve grown

Forgiveness comes in many colors, but it never came in mine
You see, I never could forgive, how you could never stay in line
Nevertheless let’s stay in touch, and peel the paint off of these signs
It’s this progressive way you live, gives me regressive ways to lie
And say

“The bells here are broken, the bells here don’t ring”
She runs with her shoelace unlaced in the spring
It gets hard, it gets hard to forget

That the children are broken, the children don’t sing
The children say “screw it, man, fuck everything”
It gets hard, to not have these regrets

There’s a couple that dances on couches and tables
A lady that dances with horses in stables
An old man that’s tying a noose ‘round his neck

In the attic there’s an old box where old things are kept
An urn with the remnants that no one forgets
Relearn what your parents and peers all expect
They expect you stay

Alone, don’t you go back home
Don’t you dare go down on your knees as you crawl through the streets now you’ve grown
There’s a table where Heron and Nixon have tea
Where there’s cash accounts, critics and interns and seed
Less leave-less and hopeless impressions of youth

You’re unable to see past the fog in the hall
And relatable pictured depictments of fall
Redundantly unopened presents, in truth
In truth you should stay

Alone, don’t you go back home
Don’t you dare go down on your knees as you crawl through the streets now you’re grown

Redemption came for all the others, but it never came for me
There ain’t a person in this empty room that I would rather see
There ain’t one word or sentence could describe the awful shit I’ve heard
They keep on bringing me these cowards with their empty fucking words
They say

“The bells here are broken, the bells here don’t ring”
She runs with her shoelace unlaced in the spring
It gets hard, it gets hard to forget
The children are broken, the children don’t sing
The children say “screw it, man, fuck everything”
It gets hard, to not have these regrets

In the corner there’s hookers and trannies and crooks
Out there there’s a poet giving blowjobs for books
In here we’re all stacked into big fucking files

On the lawn there’s a pool of what might look like blood
At the entrance a door tries to keep out the flood
In the end we’re all perverts and old pedophiles
Told to stay

Alone, don’t you go back home
Don’t you dare go down on your knees as you crawl through the streets now you’re grown

It gets easy to learn how to get back inside
It gets pleasing to burn back the wallpaper skies
That room at the end there should really stay closed

But its dark and its cold when the windows stay shut
This here’s where you dug yourself into your rut
This here’s where you fuckers should all keep your clothes
On and stay

Alone, don’t you go back home
Don’t you go down on your knees as you crawl through the streets now you’ve grown

Recession tore apart my brothers, and it tore apart this town
Now all these faggots and these niggers are gonna burn this fucker down
While all these backwoods retard rednecks fuck their cousins in the woods
There must be metaphors here somewhere, somewhere in my neighborhood

They say “The bells here are broken, the bells here don’t ring”
She runs with her shoelace unlaced in the spring
It gets hard, it gets hard to forget
That the children are broken, the children don’t sing
The children say “screw it, man. Fuck everything”
It gets hard, to not have these regrets