Frontwards

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 fussin'

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 waste---------ed

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 leavin'

It's pattern's torn

And we're weavin'

This battle's torn

And we're weavin'