Now
|
I'm wakin' at the crack of dawn
|
to send a little money home
|
from here to the moon
|
is risin' like a discotheque
|
and now my bags are down and packed for traveling
|
|
Lookin' at happiness
|
keepin' my flavor fresh
|
nobody knows I guess
|
how far I'll go, I know
|
so I'm leavin' at Six O' Clock
|
meet in a parkin' lot
|
Harriet Hendershot
|
sunglasses on, she waits by this
|
|
Glass and concrete and stone
|
It is just a house, not a home.
|
|
Skin, that covers me from head to toe
|
except a couple tiny holes and openings
|
Where, the city's blowin' in and out
|
this is what it's all about, delightfully
|
|
Everything's possible
|
when you're an animal
|
not inconceivable
|
How things can change, I know
|
|
So I'm puttin' on aftershave
|
nothin' is out of place
|
gonna be on my way
|
Try to pretend, it's not only
|
|
Glass and concrete and stone
|
That it's just a house, not a home.
|
And its glass and concrete and stone
|
|
It is just a house, not a home
|
And my head is fifty feet high
|
Let my body and soul be my guide
|
|
-----------------
|
Glass, Concrete, and Stone
|
| David Byrne |
