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