Tin Can Ride

We won’t mind if you try to fix him, and then cry into the mic
According to stories fireside, he was raised by wolves then cut and left to die
It’s a useful myth — drink this, shrink down; pop this, grow big
And now the rocky ride is ending in a silent glide, slalom down the snow hill
in a tin can ride
If it weren’t so nigh, time you’d be screaming out, if it weren’t your kid,
you would give into doubt
But these days you’re trying to quit, like those smiles that he fooled you with
We won’t mind, feign a thick skin and then split at the sides
Faulty rhymes — he was born heart beating to the pulse of poetic crime
It’s a hard one, kid, the paint’s quite peeling, but, boy, the wood is fine
And now the rocky ride is ending in a silent glide, slalom down the snowhill in
a tin can ride
If it weren’t so nigh, time you’d be screaming out
If it weren’t your kid, you would give into doubt
But these days you’re trying to quit, like those smiles that he fooled you with