Lyrics

Sometimes, you gotta keep talkin' When there's nothing left to talk about Sometimes, you gotta keep walkin' When there's nothing left to walk about You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here Cause we close at 10 o'clock on the weekends But you can't go home cause you live on the shelf Right next to the wheat thins I've got a great idea Let's put on black and white sweaters and Ski masks and take our television set and Run down a crowded city street Yelling and scrеaming in harmony We'll probably get shot, but that's okay Side-to-sidе hospital beds, what a day Ba-ba, ba-da-ba-ba-da-ba-da, ba-ba-da-ba Ba-da-ba, ba-ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da I've got another idea Let's go to the tattoo parlor And give 'em 50 dollars And ask for a tiny little dot on my arm Call it a freckle, and not tell anyone I think the insignificance of permanence is really great I don't have any secrets, so I think it is a good one to make