The hardest part about cutting your teeth is watching the way they bleed. Those drops on the sidewalk--parts of your father and I—they're keeping you undone, they’re keeping you outside. Rest your head on the cold concrete. Was it a fair trade for a bed and pillow? Just to heed the pull inside your veins... It's not quite your fault but nor is it mine. These things worth nothing anymore. Was it a long climb up from the bottom? A lesser man wouldn't be alive. If it's how you say and truly over then may others know that this is possible. These things could mean something again. Stretched your arms and reached back up from the bottom. These things worth something again. A life cut short, not by your hands, you lost control in a different way. On the highway, far passed recovery; not by your hands and not by mine.