What's the Who cares? People everywhere, Running like decapitated in the rain. Never mind the poultry, I'd rather at home I hope that my old lady's feeling a lazy Jane No one really I'm funny, Not the way she does She is stranger than fiction, definition. Why don't we go a drive and why don't we take your car? Mine is nearly out of gas and broken down. flame and cheap Bordeaux And wafting in the air a kiss and listen to the sound of falling rain Never mind diet, I'd rather our guts Making faces on the windowpane We run, we run, we run And we're happy inside of this The are half the fun 'Cause anarchy in its space Huddled in the pilot's seat our tanks are with Thimbledrome. We check the dash and turn the on. Never the man in orange; We our own way home. We crush him flat and shoot the sky. a baby on its way because of what we do so much, Shooting a comet from the other end of space. Someday (I don't know one) A pair of little feet come Creeping like a with a creepy little face And I will that monkey, spank that monkey, Spank that monkey if it out of line. And I will spank that monkey, that monkey, And thank me someday when I'm seventy-nine. We run, we run, we run And happy inside of this place. The walls are the fun 'Cause stays in its space. Allow me to extend to you a special to Watch the wrinkles form my face as I grow old. Christmastime and Halloween and all the days lie between Hand in hand we'll watch as all the unfold.