| We hide
|
| As their sidewalks crawl diseased
|
| The ever-shopping hopping fleas
|
| Their engines hum the suns reprise
|
| We rise
|
| To skies punctured with stars
|
| She steers us through her Dogpatch bars
|
| A barback nods, he’s one of ours
|
| As they sleep
|
| Their city is awake and wide
|
| Their city is awake and wide
|
| We’re aching inside, aching
|
| Mistakes are waiting
|
| Take me for a ride
|
| My blood finally thick enough to drive
|
| Marianne, last touch: 5:45
|
| The highway’s already alive
|
| With the khakis teeming with caffeine
|
| To coax the cursor 'cross the screen
|
| The nervous tic-talking machine
|
| All the lights go green
|
| For me, Lord Legless, and my Sacred Rose tat queen
|
| Ah — my Marianne
|
| Tell your old man
|
| We’re nothing
|
| Ah — my Marianne
|
| Tell your old man we’re nothing serious
|
| From Lower Haight
|
| To Sea Cliff Estates
|
| Sped past their finest
|
| Yet gave no chase
|
| Brought our feast (their city)
|
| Of Mission grease (their city)
|
| To freeze our tits off (their city’s awake)
|
| On Baker Beach (their city’s awake)
|
| We rolled back to Polk (you rolled a smoke) (their city)
|
| You killed the beams (and then I spoke) (their city)
|
| Marianne I’m half his age (their city)
|
| And half the man
|
| Tell your old man (their city)
|
| We’re nothing serious |