Welcome home, my son. It's been so very long
I know that you're here to surrender

The disappointing days I suffered at your age
Are more than I'd care to remember

Before you throw the towel and turn your engines out
Don't expect to spit all that you've tasted from your mouth

After all you've seen, the most you'll hope to be
Is pretending to be a pretender

The years that I've been through, I've met a gentle few
Who say that they love and they mean it

Others that I met -- they're decent folks, I guess --
But all that they love is achievement

The swagger and the dress, the trappings of success
The butter and the milk of what it takes to get ahead

Any given night, you'll catch them dead to rights
Painting their name on the ceiling

Remember, in the end that many of your friends
Would rather be dead than uncertain
They want a simple yes, but even better yet
A promise that the next life is perfect

I promise that it's not, then what have they got
Only fifty years they never gave a moments thought

Anyone they find that tells them otherwise
They'll follow him backwards and shirtless

Welcome home, my son. It's been so very long
I know that you're here to surrender