It was Don Delillo, whiskey neat, and a blinking midnight clock Speakers on the TV stand, just a turntable to watch When the smoke came out our mouths on all those hooded sweatshirt walks We were a stroke of luck We were a gold mine, they gutted us And from the sidelines you see me run Until I'm out of breath Living the good life, I left for dead The sorrowful midwest Well, I did my best To keep my head It was grass-stained jeans and incompletes And a girl from class to touch But you think about yourself too much And you ruin who you love Well, all these claims at consciousness My stray dog freedom Let's have a nice, clean cut Like a bag we buy and divvy up And from the sidelines I see you run Until you're out of breath And all those white lines that sped us up We hurry to our death Well, I lagged behind So you got ahead