stretch marks are all healing   and the age of wonder's ended   all the heroes are high schoolers   and all the villains apprehended      something sinister seems missing   like a disco with no floors   there's no pennies in the fountains   and no adventures without swords      and i've wasted all my summer nights   in factories and trash-bins   like my days are epic poems   in which nothing really happens      and it won't be her i'll be missing   just that sad late-summer ache   just the constant listening to Pet Sounds   at midnight around the lake      and i know that something's burning   though i only find the ash   like a leviathan lurking   somewhere deep below the splash      so lend me all your submarines   and take me to your caverns   all the pipes are screaming space ships   in the tvs and the taverns      and when i'm tired of dreaming bar-stools   i'll go home and dream in bed   but those hackneyed stories have no wonder   and the villains are all dead      and it won't be her i'll be missing   just that sad melodic sigh   and how i could stand so tiny   but with my fists up in the sky      and I felt it in the desert   and it shook me half awake   and I saw it in chicago   in the lights and in the lake      and i felt it in the suburbs   and i dreamed it in my bed   and i'll sing it 'til i get dried out   or i'm boring or i'm dead      now i'm peddling pink cashmere   though ask why, i could not say   and the gears are ever turning   every minute, every day      and if i don't keep up running   make me terrible and grey   we can watch that summer feeling   get swallowed up by the days      (and I'm going to run to the beach, now   and I'm going to run to the beach, now   and I'm gonna run to the beach, now)      and so i'll just run and run   and the gears'll be undone   and i'll just run and run   and the gears'll be undone      and if i'll just run and run   and the gears'll be undone      and i'll just run and run   the gears'll be undone