On our street, dirty seats
I know you feel like we can't go inside
we can talk in private here
tell me now of how things used to be.
But I'm not crazy I'm just a little boy
And you're not crazy you're just a little girl.

We could find an old boxcar
In the woods to make our home
We could make a broom of weeds
And brush and sweep all the Daddies away.

If we went back to being small
We could find a place where we could raise ourselves
You'd be ill with so much guilt
But we'd pretend that they got better now,
But I'm not crazy I'm just a little boy
And you're not crazy you're just a little girl

We could find an old boxcar
In the woods to make our home
Make a bed of maple leaves
Sleep with minds on the door
Only steal what we need
Keep our milk in the stream
We could make a broom of weeds,
And brush and sweep all the Daddies away.

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