Well I thought about the army
Dad said, son you're fucking
I feel like a quote out of context
withholding the rest
so
Six a.m. day after Christmas
I throw some clothes on in
I wish it was last September
When we could lose ourselves
Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark
There's an
Jane be Jane
You're better that way
Not when you're tryin'
Imitating somethin
I should warn you
I go to sleep
I know you don't
Know
september '75 i was 47 inches high,
my mom said
I woke up and I drove to work
on the
Won't you look up at the skyline
At the mortar, block,
I, I
I'm gonna rock this bitch
I tell you what,
Now the houses are ghosts
Over Silver Street
They got 'em dressed
Well she crept back in the house at half past
I don't get many things right the first time
In
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyes,
Sara spelled without an 'h' was getting bored
On a Peavey