I am the only one searchin' 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
Empty homes, plastic cones
Stolen rims, are they alloy or chrome?
Well, I've got style, miles and miles
So much style that it's wastin'
So much style and it's wastin'
So much style and it's wastin'
Now 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 crumblin' like a dirt clod
Hold, your cigarette cuts to the inside
Empty 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'
This pattern's torn and we're weavin'
This pattern's torn and we're weavin' in it
