See yourself on blocks, in fighting form, and everybody loves you now,
They're glad you're home.
Story time is battle scars,
Yellow lines are track marks, interspersed
With loads of fun.
It's a top of the rock, snow-capped,
Hugh/Barry night.
You, thinkin,' "Every last little thing's gonna be alright."
Broken hearted month,
Stare at the sun,
Wonderin' when your hunter's moon is fit to soar.
And your friends say you're like an omnivore,
Only you are imbibing the spirit of the mess you left before.
It's a top-of-the-loft
String of sweat-soaked summer nights.
You, thinkin,' "Every last little thing's gonna be alright."
And The Boss is always right:
You're missing half the point of life,
Standing on a darkened beach in Seaside Heights.
Listening to TPM,
About to cross the bridge, again.
Playing catchup, where the pumps stay on all night.
Your arms are waving bye-bye as you swore
You'd go to hell before you dared
Go back for more.
And this will almost always be your life,
So you have to take the low
Parts with the high. This is a day-after-day-is-the-same-day kind of night.
You, thinkin,' "Every last little thing's gonna be alright."
And your body's broke, but you're fumbling for the light,
Just thinking,
"Everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and every last little thing's gonna be alright."
See yourself on blocks, in fighting form,
And everybody loves you, now,
They're glad you're home.