Brooklyn Boy
KEVIN PATRICK DEVINE
Brooklyn boy, born and raised, chopping lines
Hey hey, it's my birthday
It's a toy I torched, a tar pit flame, a lockjaw night
Hey hey, it's my birthday
Dead end friends that make your stomach shake
While your hissing head barrels down that blackened lane
Alone at last to figure how you got this way
Alone at last to figure how you got this way
Charcoal clouds spot and spray, they kill the sun
Hey hey, hear its back break
So I can never tell night from day
Or right from wrong,
Hey hey, you're my headache
Your silver tongue it masks your hungry hate
While your haggard heart whispers through its cracking cage
You still can change, you have to know, you still can change
I know, I know, for now I wanna be this way
This was a choice, this was never a mistake