Walking Papers (2012)

Red Envelopes

There’s a monster incubating inside a teenaged mom

There’s a world outside waiting for him with the atom bomb

There’s a body on the billboard that he’s never gonna get

If it was lying in his bed he wouldn’t know what to do with it

There’s a stack of red envelopes

There’s a list of demands

The blood is on your hands

He’ll use his skateboard as a weapon

He’s gonna have a short fuse

He’ll grow up with holes in his jeans

And dirty white tennis shoes

He’s gonna love the smell of spray paint

He’ll be growing out his hair

He’ll give the world the finger

To show them he don’t care

There’s a stack of red envelopes

There’s a list of demands

The blood is on your hands

There’s bars on the windows, there’s a mattress on the floor

There’s an endless argument on the other side of the door

He’ll put on his headphones to drown out the noise

‘Cause Rock n roll is the only escape

For forgotten teenaged boys

No-one ever listens, no one understands

The blood is on your hands