We'll correct collegiate mistakes, a shower of formal ideals, completely soused. The hearts on our sleeves as they drowned we could hear them screaming. Oh what a tragic way to see our final days. I attempt to talk up the town: The answers are in the arches of the 20th Century Towers and in comfortable cars in motion. And yet it still remains, this incessant refrain: You're just like the rest. Your restlessness makes you lazy. Keeping busy is just wasting time and I've wasted what little he gave me. (all around) I know the conscious choice was crystal clear the slate of former years: When I sang softly in your ear and tied these arms around you.