You learn at first
That word is cursed
That home is just a locked door
You whisper and shout
At despair and doubt
They can knock until they are sore
Because I'm never around
I'm a picture without sound
I'm a ceiling without a floor
Even in this fabulous confusion
I don't get excited much anymore
Our place in town
Is being stripped down
Into gunpowder, grease, and gears
Where will we go
To sing and dance slow
And reel in our remaining years?
Wrapped up in airs
As we try not to care
As our hobbies become chores
Down here every night is a weekend
I don't get excited much anymore
I might buy the place
Clean up its face
Find a payment I can afford
I wouldn't change
I'd just rearrange
That jukebox and dartboard
Even rumours need rest
There's plastic in the press
And each of you can keep the score
Down here every night is a weekend
I don't get excited much anymore
