Hang On Kid

I see you eating lunch in the library, back to the wall where the door's in view. You learned which stairwell stays empty, which route to your locker is clear. You heard the word shouted across the gym floor and you swallowed it, year after year. You faked sick on the worst Monday mornings, watched the screen at two in the dark — I know, kid. I was there in that hallway. I still feel that dent in the heart. But I came back from the future to find you, and I've got proof, not just a line — so hang on, kid. The distance to the good part is shorter than it looks tonight. I'm living proof, I made it through — so hang on, kid. Hang on tight. There's an apartment with somebody in it who looks at me like I hung the sun. There's a table of friends who'd raze that school if they heard what those years had done. The word they threw doesn't land anymore, it just falls in the street and dies — and the kid they swore would never make it is the one writing this, alive. So I came back from the future to find you, and I've got proof, not just a line — so hang on, kid. The distance to the good part is shorter than it looks tonight. I'm living proof, I made it through — so hang on, kid. Hang on tight. I won't lie and say they meant well, won't dress it up sweet or pretend. It was bad. You were brave just by waking. But the hallway, kid — the hallway ends. And on the other side I'm standing, hand stretched back to you, my friend. So hang on, kid. The distance to the good part is shorter than it looks tonight. I'm living proof, I made it through — so hang on, kid. Hang on tight. Eat your lunch, count down the days. The hallway ends. Hang on. You'll be okay.