Now the time is almost done
The race for last is
When you're out in the crowd, tryin' to make it
A phone book full of accidents
A girl to drive your
City sky comes down like rain
Through all the alleys to
I try to remember a kiss
And I only get sorrow
And
People call to say hello
They call to talk about the
The air here tastes like poison
The traffic moves on broken
Love is hiding in the city
Here in all of you
Put
Don't be a girl for all their kisses
For all their
Give me all your paper ma
Gimme all your jazz
Give me
Speak, talk to me
Show what I am
And cannot be
Talk, entertain
you will have a dress of white
you will have a
A banker in a tired suit is counting in his
Don't want order, it won't come
There's no why that it
Hello to you, hello to me
I've somewhere else to be
Excuses,
» More on Psychedelic Furs