“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
Painted homes, plastic combs
Stolen rims are they alloy or chrome
Well I’ve got style, miles and miles
So much style that it’s wasting”

Frontwards - Pavement