Last night my dad flew in from Maine on American Airlines.
He looks the same– but I heard a worry–a worry in his voice.
"Every time I come here, you gotta new lame job, a strung-out girlfriend
Where is your hope, what is your dream–I want to understand."

I said: "This is what I live for,
this is what I live for,
I know you can't see anything yet
but I'm trying to find the core
of what I live for."

"Come back soon– your family is dying to see you.
I want to help but I'm beginning to hate you.
If I'd behaved this way my dad woulda cracked me in two.

"I feel you slipping away,
I feel you slipping away,
I know the talk, I know the smells,
the druggy walk, the druggy hell.
You're slipping away."

"Dad I'll be fine, I'm trying hard, trying hard to find
a way to live, a way to love–I know I'm a little bit fucked up.

"This is what I live for,
this is what I live for,
I know you can't see anything yet
but I'm trying to find the core
of what I live for."