He played out on Depressing street
When he was just a boy;
The life that he was born to
Had a minimum of joy

Their hope had been abandoned
For a laboratory friend;
And every day, in violence
Someone’s stay came to an end

He lived in squalor, shabbily
And found that, as a teen
He’d lost his young ability
To flee by means of dream

He hung out on Depressing Street
With others of his fate;
And made the choices that he made
Until it was too late