| Oh the turbines pound
|
| Your plane touches down
|
| The captain catches your eye
|
| And all the city crows
|
| Perched high and low
|
| On wires watch you walk by
|
| Oh your hair has changed
|
| Your room’s rearranged
|
| Someone’s been sleeping inside
|
| And the curtains closed
|
| On all your windows
|
| To block out the fried chicken sign
|
| Roll on Arte, roll on
|
| Oh your heart is too good for this town
|
| Your eyes cast through the glass
|
| At my so sorry mannequin frown
|
| The porter sings
|
| As he begins
|
| To clean up the mess that we’ve made
|
| And the Christmas trees
|
| Are cast on the street
|
| And garbage trucks block Hooper lane
|
| Well my head is in pain
|
| But I can’t complain
|
| Cause my sweetheart waits down the line
|
| And I will be
|
| In a house by the sea
|
| Or even if just in my mind
|
| Roll on Arte, roll on
|
| Oh your heart is too good for this town
|
| Your eyes cast through the glass
|
| At my sorry American frown
|
| Oh my mouth ain’t fed
|
| My lips ain’t cherry red
|
| And my grin might show my bad teeth
|
| And all the people I pass
|
| Give me a glance
|
| As if I’m some lower class freak
|
| But to you I’m fine
|
| And I’m in your mind
|
| Even if I’m not around
|
| In my arms I am strong
|
| And that’s where you belong
|
| Give em the love that we’ve found
|
| Roll on Arte, roll on
|
| Oh your heart is too good for this town
|
| My eyes cast through the glass
|
| At your so sorry Marilyn frown
|
| At your so sorry Marilyn frown |