I am the only one. searching 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 wasted. so much style. that it's wasted. so much style. that its waste---------ed. 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 crumbling. 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'. it's pattern's torn. and we're weavin'. this battle's torn. and we're weavin'