| I’ll be you
|
| you’ll be talkin' to a flowerpot
|
| but that’s hardly worth a thought
|
| or a plague of frogs
|
| we will vomit up our chicago luck
|
| and we will dance
|
| on broken sheets of glass
|
| to make our point.
|
| and if this town seems too big
|
| if the traffic freaks you out
|
| I will be your lightning rod
|
| delivering sound to you
|
| he’s a charming wreck
|
| and he’s a handsome wreck
|
| the kind of rat
|
| that took my woman back to his pad
|
| and I’m not travelin'
|
| I’m not sleepin' in
|
| the clothes I wore
|
| a hundred times or more.
|
| what’ll I do?
|
| what’ll I do…
|
| when my nerves get
|
| topsy turvy
|
| I’ll be you
|
| if you want me to
|
| I’ll clean your clock
|
| and if this town seems too big
|
| if the traffic freaks you out
|
| I will be your lightning rod
|
| delivering sound
|
| I can see beneath your skin!
|
| it really freaks me out
|
| I will be your camera’s flash
|
| delivering sunbeams |