I'm in a book,
For you to read and then throw out.
I wasn't born,
I was just dropped into your arms.
Well mom I've been bad,
And I want to come home.
And you couldn't breath,
With all those doctors at your side.
But you're talking to me,
Saying I wish that I had died.
'Cause I'm being crowded,
Crushed in your hands,
And I want to come home on the F train.
And if you were just a paper boat,
Floating through the garden.
Lost at sea,
Drift to me,
And into someone's nightmares.
A home is a highway,
Your pillows a rock,
I'm in a rusted car,
Bound to get lost
