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 Ritalin
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
They don't believe in me

Get my television fixed
Sitting on my crucifix
The living room on my private womb
While the moms and Brads are away, ey-yeah
To fall in love and fall in debt
To alcohol and cigarettes
And Mary Jane to keep me insane
Doing someone else's cocaine

And there's nothing wrong with me
This is how I'm supposed to be
In a land of make-believe
They don't believe in me

At the center of the Earth in the parking lot
Of the 7-Eleven where I was taught
The motto was just a lie
It says "home is where your heart is" but what a shame
'Cause everyone's heart doesn't beat the same and I swear
I swear, It's beating out of time, Ah-ah-ahh

City of the dead
At the end of another lost highway
Signs misleading to nowhere
City of the damned
Lost children with dirty faces today
No one really seems to care
I read the graffiti in the bathroom stall
Like the lonely scriptures of the shopping mall and I swear
I swear, and so it seemed to confess
It didn't say much, but it only confirmed
That the center of the Earth is the end of the world
And I swear, I swear I could really care less
I could really care less

City of the dead
At the end of another lost highway
Signs misleading to nowhere
City of the damned
Lost children with dirty faces today
No one really seems to care