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In the ashtray city where I built my home
And Mum says, "Son, will you come back home?"
When I rolled up papers to inflict the drone
And God sits by and says, "You have to know"

And I let go of your hot sweet hand
And you turned back, say I'm "a weird man"
And I tear through bottles 'cause I'm a damaged fan
And I don't feel good, despite the power of prayer

'Cause it's all waste, yeah, it's all wasted
What, on a hairdo? My hairdo
'Cause it's all waste, it’s all wasted
What, on a drunk boy? 'In a band' boy?

In the ashtray city, it's better hot than cold
And if I knew better, I'd say I'm feeling old
And if there's one thing the march of time has told
It's that sex feels better held in the arms of love

'Cause it's all waste, yeah, it's all wasted
What, on my hairdo? My hairdo
Oh, 'cause it's all waste, it’s all wasted
What, on a drunk boy? 'In a band' boy?
What if my head stops getting blood to think?
What if her hands stop holding mine?
And what if her lips stop touching mine?
And what if her eyes stop looking out for me?
And what if her heart stops giving itself to me?
Itself to me

In the ashtray city where I built my home
And Mum says, "Son, don't you come back home"
And I roll up papers to inflict the drone
And God sits by and says, "You have to know"

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