the sound of ataris kills working class men
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who know that they'll never drive fast cars again
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heroes are broken the cello is burnt
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pictures of babies are covered with dirt
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elbows are bleeding the sneakers have holes
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decaying rooftops have decaying goals
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throw it away set yourself free
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run to the ocean don't worry 'bout me
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i have lots of friends and the road has no end
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and your time is your money and i've got to spend
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time on the outside of being removed
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from forgotten theories i never proved
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i have lots of friends and my life is pretend
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and i'll run and i'll run and i won't understand
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how my feet stick out the cold desert breeze
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and people drink coffee inside redwood trees
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renaissance uncles and surgical aunts
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have polar fleece cousins in old navy pants
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with heroes all published and pianos upgraded
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and laptops for hearts that are sharp and serrated
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carve me a pawn, carve me a rook
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make me the queen of my own storybook
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gather some branches and make me a cane
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for when it gets hard to support my own weight
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i have lots of friends and what's blended will mend
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i'm bo peep and my sheep are the dreams i attend
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small and unruly and wearing your shirt
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pictures of babies are covered with dirt
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i have lots of friends and the road is my friend
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and my thoughts are all stupider when they don't bend
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over and wrap underneath and around
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pictures of babies are all underground
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dead and they're buried down in the ground
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i have lots of friends
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i have lots of friends
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i have lots of friends
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i have lots of friends
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the sound of ataris kills me and my friends
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'cause we know that we'll never go back there again
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sometimes we play playstation
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but it's not the same
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The Sound Of Ataris
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| Kimya Dawson |
