It's my turn   It's your turn   It's my turn   Time to leave      Take a bag and pack it neat   I've got no future so I'm marching east   Copses and cardboard boxes   A mystery to the world      I don't feel exotic driving Japanese cars   And I don't see the value   Of roofs and paths like well-made graphs   It's not enough to cling to      Sandy polystyrene haunts my recollection   Of a frozen face that wanted your affection   And I hid the fact   I always hid the fact      I'd like a room in St. Petersburg   With rotting walls and character   Where I can hide and stay inside   And be a mystery to the world