the sound of ataris kills working class men   who know that they'll never drive fast cars again   heroes are broken the cello is burnt   pictures of babies are covered with dirt   elbows are bleeding the sneakers have holes   decaying rooftops have decaying goals   throw it away set yourself free   run to the ocean don't worry 'bout me      i have lots of friends and the road has no end   and your time is your money and i've got to spend   time on the outside of being removed   from forgotten theories i never proved      i have lots of friends and my life is pretend   and i'll run and i'll run and i won't understand   how my feet stick out the cold desert breeze   and people drink coffee inside redwood trees   renaissance uncles and surgical aunts   have polar fleece cousins in old navy pants   with heroes all published and pianos upgraded   and laptops for hearts that are sharp and serrated   carve me a pawn, carve me a rook   make me the queen of my own storybook   gather some branches and make me a cane   for when it gets hard to support my own weight      i have lots of friends and what's blended will mend   i'm bo peep and my sheep are the dreams i attend   small and unruly and wearing your shirt   pictures of babies are covered with dirt      i have lots of friends and the road is my friend   and my thoughts are all stupider when they don't bend   over and wrap underneath and around   pictures of babies are all underground   dead and they're buried down in the ground      i have lots of friends   i have lots of friends   i have lots of friends   i have lots of friends      the sound of ataris kills me and my friends   'cause we know that we'll never go back there again   sometimes we play playstation   but it's not the same