I'm the son of rage and love
the Jesus of Suburbia
The bible of none of the above
on
a steady diet of
Soda pop and ritilan
no one ever died
for my sins
in hell as far as I can tell
At least the ones I got away with
And there's nothing wrong with me
This is how I'm supposed to be
In the land of make believe
that
don't believe in me
Get my television fixed
sittin on
my crucifix
The living room or my private womb
While the moms and brads are away
To
fall in love or fall in debt
to alcohal and cigarettes
and Mary Jane
to keep me insane doing
someone elses cocaine
And there's nothing wrong with me
This is how I'm supposed to be
In a land of make believe
That don't believe in me
