PavementFrontwards

I am the only one, Searching for you, And if I get caught, Then the search is through And the stories you hear, You know they never add up I hear the natives fussing At the data chart, Be quiet The weather's on the night news... Antique homes, Plastic cones, Stolen rims Are they alloy or chrome? Well I've got style, Miles and miles, So much style That it's wasted, So much style That it's wasted So much style That its wasted 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 crumbling Like a dirt clod Hold, your cigarette cuts To the inside Antique homes, Plastic cones, Stolen rims, Are they alloy or chrome? Well I've got style, Miles and miles So much style That it's leaving It's pattern's torn And we're weaving This battle's torn And we're weaving
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