Talking to the train tracks working for the wrong man. Dreaming of the perfect tan. And the beautiful voices. Telling you what you are. And the death of poetry, on the pages of a magazine strung out on the perfect set of genes.
Chorus
Dont want to be there. When it all comes crashing down. Somehow there's going to be tommorow. Somehow there's going to be tommorow.
I know
I know
I know all too well.
Funny how the days slip by without a thought in the mind or a moment of time with your feet on the ground. I know that this will come 'round. Such a beautiful thing that one day all of this will be gone. Nothing is sacred nothing is true. Nothing is blue. And I dont mind what you do. 'Cause my mind, is my mind in spite of you.
Chorus
Standing on a spaceship looking for life or a God or a gun or a matchbook telephone number. To the one, who might love you. Or maybe... maybe... maybe... maybe...maybe... Maybe it's time we've closed the line and step outside and look for the great disaster. It just might be faster. To close this book myself. Yeah......
Chorus
And isnt strange that we've come this far and still dont know who we are...