Frozen out of focus, the sunday crowd   Started dreaming of television turned up too loud.   Coded conversation, half baked and tired,   Left us sleeping on blacktops burning the motor mile.      And underneath the arcade, details collide   There's good shopping, but all those patrons have too much style.   And moving in slow motion the boulevard started seeping   With them half-ravers and techno bars.      It is like below the neon sign   All speeding past the line and thrashing, i'm in paradise.      Sealed in concentration, the lantern lights   Started shrinking on dead men drinking white liquor wine.   And eyed the complication, the methane gas   Started leaking on bastards burning half red and black.      We can't lie below imperfect time   All speeding past the line and thrashing, i'm in paradise.      And standing at the gates of NC state fair,   Saw you smoking with all those new friends you've got to spare.   And melting back in focus the sunday crowd   Started sleeping with white trash heroes, tv's turned down.      In he lies, below the neon sky    All speeding past the line and thrashing, i'm in paradise.   We can't lie below imperfect time   All dreaming of the white trash heroes on the boulevard.    It is like below the neon sky   All speeding past the line and thrashing on the boulevard.   We can't lie below imperfect time   All dreaming of the white trash heroes, i'm in paradise.