I’m sick of the cynical.
I’m sick of the fashion show.
The vapid and overblown someone, someone
tells me I ought to know. 
I wouldn’t stay around if the money let me linger on
until the end of December. 
And waste another year like a minute, trying to forget, 
cause I remember my home.

I left there with bitter words.
I’ll go back with cap in hand,
and launder the bed I made, hurtful things said, and pick 
up where I began.

The penny lost its shine. 
Dirty ankles on the promenade
in rubber flip-flop sandals. 
Give me back the rags,
the neurotic and the sweet lament,
’cause I can’t handle it. 

I’m gonna take a lover. 
Gonna take her back to Somerville. 
Show her around the neighborhood,
re-case the place and settle down.

Gonna take a lover. 
Gonna take her back to Somerville. 
Don’t care if she’s pretty
when we leave Suck City.