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.