The Everybodyfields
magazines
two days and my money's spenti can't tell you just where i've beeni only gamble when i stealbut i like the way it feelsmy hands still smell like a magazinei keep having the same old dreameverything is what it seemssomething's wrong and i'm off to sleepwhite knuckles on a baseball bati know just where i'm atsun shone like david copperfielddaddy, tell me it's not realtwo feet, knee-deep in doubtaround the bases and at home i'm outbut if you're never home i doubtthat you will ever see me outparking lot is a hiding place'cause under the cars you can't see my face
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