pavement
frontwards
I am the only one, searching for you, and if i get caught, then the search is through and the stories you hear, you know they never add up i hear the natives fussin' at the data chart, be quiet the weather's on the night news... empty homes, plastic cones, stolen rims are they alloy or chrome? well i've got style, miles and miles, so much style that it's wasted, so much style that it's wasted so much style that its waste---------ed she's the only one, who always inhales paris is stale and it's war if we fail And in the migrant hotels, they never sleep, they never will their souls are crumbling like a dirt clod hold, your cigarette cuts to the inside empty homes, plastic cones, stolen rims, are they alloy or chrome? well i've got style, miles and miles so much style that it's leavin' it's pattern's torn and we're weavin' this battle's torn and we're weavin'