pack a bag make it fast in the long run it'll be so much better 'cause things keep turning strung to a pole to themselves

mama they took away our land mama they took away our clay I see the trade boats wait offshore mama withdraw your expectations mama I'm hollow as a face concave reflection in a sunglass cut out the personal column some drunken freewheel in the brightlights mama I'm gonna stowaway neither colonial nor driftwood I see them hitchhike on the highway they got no tv nor religion

beating heart violet snow under blacklight dripping blood time to go and the sky is turning as people flow to themselves

driftwood finds land it's all it knows same house same face same tomorrows no place like home no place at all those treasured sands years waited for mama your touch erotic score where winds withdraw just one more touch

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