Asking only workman's wages, I come lookin' for a job
But I get no offers
Just a come-on from the whores on 7th Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there, la la la la la la la

 

The Boxer

Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door

I know that I'm a prisoner to all my father held so dear
I know that I'm a hostage, to all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
I'm afraid that's all we've got

 

 

The Living Years

I catch him when he's strayin' like any brother should
Man turns his back on his family, he ain't no good

 

Bruce Springsteen - Highway Patrolman