Bookworm

I'm in a book, for you to read and then throw out. I wasn't born, I was just dropped into your arms. Well mom I've been bad, and I want to come home. And you couldn't breath, with all those doctors at your side. But you're talking to me, saying I wish that I had died. 'Cause I'm being crowded, crushed in your hands, and I want to come home on the F train. And if you were just a paper boat, floating through the garden. Lost at sea, drift to me, and into someone's nightmares. A home is a highway, your pillows a rock, I'm in a rusted car, bound to get lost