I am the only one   Searching for you   And if I get caught   Well, then the search is through      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 combs   Stolen rooms are the alloy of chrome   I've got style   Miles and miles   So much style that it's wasting   So much style that it's wasting   So much style that it's wasting      Now, she's the only one   Who always inhales   Paris is stale   And it's war if we fail      And in the migrant hotels   They never sleep, they never will   Their souls are crumblin' like a dirt-clod hold   Your cigarette cuts to the inside      Empty homes, plastic combs   Stolen rooms are the alloy of chrome   I've got style   Miles and miles   So much style that it's leaving   This pattern's torn and we're weaving   This pattern's torn and we'll weave it