The Sound of Ataris

The sound of ataris kills working class men

who know that they'll never drive fast cars again

heroes are broken the cello is burnt

pictures of babies are covered with dirt

elbows are bleeding the sneakers have holes

decaying rooftops have decaying goals

throw it away set yourself free

run to the ocean don't worry 'bout me

i have lots of friends and the road has no end

and your time is your money and i've got to spend

time on the outside of being removed

from forgotten theories i never proved

i have lots of friends and my life is pretend

and i'll run and i'll run and i won't understand

how my feet stick out the cold desert breeze

and people drink coffee inside redwood trees

renaissance uncles and surgical aunts

have polar fleece cousins in old navy pants

with heroes all published and pianos upgraded

and laptops for hearts that are sharp and serrated

carve me a pawn, carve me a rook

make me the queen of my own storybook

gather some branches and make me a cane

for when it gets hard to support my own weight

i have lots of friends and what's blended will mend

i'm bo peep and my sheep are the dreams i attend

small and unruly and wearing your shirt

pictures of babies are covered with dirt

i have lots of friends and the road is my friend

and my thoughts are all stupider when they don't bend

over and wrap underneath and around

pictures of babies are all underground

dead and they're buried down in the ground

i have lots of friends

i have lots of friends

i have lots of friends

i have lots of friends

the sound of ataris kills me and my friends

'cause we know that we'll never go back there again

sometimes we play playstation

but it's not the same