We are not downtown, we are in White Marsh
We prefer the processed and not the organic
We’re not in Hampden, we’re up in Towson
We’re low risk with medium profit
We’re almost right but we’re still in the wrong
Cliché-ridden lyrics and phoned-in songs
Our pain is real but our expression is fake
Generations of dubs, a remake of a remake
A group of kids who couldn't stick the landing
Suburban youth and synergized marketing
Another line with too many hooks
A demographic living by the book

I’m not here and I’m not there
My heart is not in Ohio
These are the undead, they are in limbo
These are the kids with no place to go

It’s youth culture limbo, it’s subcultural Sheol
It’s punk purgatory, it’s middle of the road
This is the sound of angry young America
This is the beat of steroid sensitivity
And the screams are as canned as the guitars are compressed
Tortured emotion and suicide stressed
So here I am alive at last,
A marooned youth movement divorced from its past

I'm not here and I'm not there
My heart is not in Ohio
These are the undead, they are in limbo
These are the kids with no place to go

A group of kids who couldn't stick the landing
Suburban youth and synergized marketing
Another line with too many hooks
A demographic living by the book

I'm not here and I'm not there
My heart is not in Ohio
These are the undead, they are in limbo
These are the kids with no place to go