There is nothing quite like hearing that something is wrong:
I'm told there's acid inside your head,

that you lived on a diet of mud and brown water
and were gone for two weeks.
I thought your mother was going to start crying when she told me.

Your new diet is to keep your head out of the clouds,
and you said that you're afraid it will make you numb.
I'm afraid that I'm not afraid enough because I haven't cried over what's become of you.

Everyone wants to save you, I want to take you back to that day Doug said, "You're a man now" because I held your hand in a restaurant.

Do you remember?  The night you almost died and you called me first,
not even your mother who didn't cry when she found out,
and I spent a night combing glass out of your hair and making you a comfortable bed on the couch.
I didn't leave your side.

No matter what color your hair is, I will always hold your hand when your past comes back to haunt you.
I said I wouldn't abandon you, you laughed and called me Judas
Your blood flows in my veins and your laugh means more to me than my last name.

When you get better, my friend, we'll go to California.
You, Don Quixote; me, Sancho Panza.