It's a Thursday afternoon
And it's raining, as you might have guessed
Reading only makes me sore
Philosophy hurts so much more
B. Smith is down below
Her old life is like an antique show
I've only seen her once outside
She always goes back to hide
And I just don't want to end up here
'Cuz all we got is faith in nothing
We gotta turn it into something
You hold on to what you got,
'Cuz that's all you got on Huntington Street
The guys next door are smoking pot
Forgetting everything they're not
And Larry David's on TV
Getting in trouble to entertain me
And he can always make me smile
But don't you know it only lasts a while
Until I look out my window
And see that nothing's changed, no
I just don't want to end up here
Look at who I am
I can barely stand
Right out my back door
Pedal to the floor and now i'm out there
Livin', that's always my dream
But here we are on Huntington Street