There’s a loser on the loose
And he’s wearing clothes like mine
Someone ought to give him the message
I got my number on my jacket
There’s a cool breeze on the tundra
And it’s crawling just for you
Someone ought to tell you about the vacuum
Sit for a number of years in the wreckage
There goes the view
There goes the last of any substance I could use
There goes the rest of any subject I could do
There goes the last of any secret that I knew
There’s a blank kid on a mattress
It’s a meeting of the minds
Someone ought to tell you about the glory
Went too many miles in a hurry
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