A patch, a thicket, a place I can write
On this broken ground I tread all night
A place I can hide, escape from my plight
A patch, a thicket, a place I can write

A patch, a thicket, a place I can sing
And throughout these woods, my voice will ring
O'er hill and dale, to crystal springs
A patch, a thicket, a place I can sing

A patch, a thicket, a place I can dance
And if you can come, I'm extending the chance
To partake in merriment, sure to entrance
A patch, a thicket, a place I can dance

A patch, a thicket, a place I can see
And no one can find it, no one but me
I'll take you along, to be gay and free
A patch, a thicket, a place I can see

A patch, a thicket, a place I can lie
To catch up on lost hours of shut eye
A secret it holds, the secret is mine
A patch, a thicket, the place I will die

This is to every sour patch kid
That ever tried to be cool by going off the grid
But you’re only as cool
As that mouth behind your cig
And the thoughts you numb with aspirin

I think we all know
It’s sour
Then sweet
But not before it’s gone
So keep it in your mouth a little longer
And then maybe
Just maybe
We won’t cry every time the bag is empty
And the lights turn out
And all we have left are those little grains of sour
That we still eat anyway

This is to every sour patch kid
That ever wrote “I love you” on your eye lids
Then fluttered your lashes
But closed your eyes for too long
Too long to see that the party was gone
And that you were the only one still pretending to have fun

Lets for a minute pretend that
The red ones aren’t just Swedish fish with a little bit of tang
And that the slang you throw in there
Doesn’t make your words anymore true
But were all gonna scream it anyway
Then maybe
Just maybe when we’re screaming
We’ll forget how to talk
And have to use our hand to say more than
Flipping the bird ever could

This is to every sour patch kid
That only did what they did
Just to say that they could
What society forbid

Well this is how it ends
The bag in which you so snugly live
Is ripped open with teeth
And when that happens
You’re gonna fly in between the
Gear shift and the seat
And then maybe
Just maybe
The hand will be skilled enough to get you out
If you’re lucky enough they even look

But even as messed up as that is
Or even as wasted as Kesha is
She has a point
We are who we are
Sincerely, The Breakfast Club