I am the only one searchin' for you   And if I get caught well, then the search is   And the stories you hear, you know they never add up   I hear the natives fussin' at the data chart   Be quiet, the weather's on the night news      Empty homes, plastic cones   Stolen rims, are they alloy or   Well, I've got style, miles and miles      So much style that it's leavin'   This pattern's torn and she's weavin'   This pattern's torn and we're weavin' in it      She's the only one who always inhales   'Cause Paris is stale and it's war if we fail   And in the migrant hotels, they never sleep and they never will   Their souls are crumblin' like a dirt clod   Hold your cigarette cuts to the inside      Empty homes, plastic cones   Stolen rims, are they alloy or chrome?   Well, I've got style, miles and miles      So much style that it's leavin'   This pattern's torn that we're weavin'   This pattern's torn and we're weavin' in it