Frontwards

I am the only one searchin' for you And if I get caught well, then the search is 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 Well, I've got style, miles and miles So much style that it's leavin' This pattern's torn and she's weavin' This pattern's torn and we're weavin' in it She's the only one who always inhales 'Cause Paris is stale and it's war if we fail And in the migrant hotels, they never sleep and they never will Their souls are crumblin' 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' This pattern's torn that we're weavin' This pattern's torn and we're weavin' in it