You were wrong to criticize
White lies and tear stained eyes
You were wrong to climb into my bed

Bad days look good on you
But the day is coming soon
When the Garden State will have had about enough of you
What are you going to do?

You’re idle hands are going to move

Ten years of bad decisions
New bruises from old collisions
If there’s a medicine going ’round, damn straight, I want mine too

Hanging with the barroom saints
Philosopher kings, they ain’t
Waiting for a girl to say that “Hey I like ya, boy.  Buy me a drink or two.”

You’re idle hands are going to move

Were you restless in the morning?
Did the hunger bring you down,
Tired and strung out from all the places you had found?

Has it broken through the skin?
The same damn time again and again
So why not shake your leaves of on the autumn ground?

Lay down, Ophelia, with your spinning head
Are you still waiting for a madman’s hands to heal you?
Frailty, you’ve got to be a bit more clever

Did the presents prove too unkind?
Did the thorny way leave you behind?
Take a deep breath now – pray love remember

You’re idle hands won’t stay this way forever