I'll crack my head
Then pour in some sorrow
I stole some things from you
I could have easily borrowed
When you were pissed and on the rag
I waited around but now I'm packing my bags
To live on a street in Hollywood
Will they love me there?
I'll be a boy in a magazine
I'll mean nothing to you
You'll mean nothing to me
You asked to go so I guess that I'll leave
And just be a boy in a magazine
I won't have a bed
I'll still have my string stained hand
I call home where animals are buried in the backyard