the future belongs to whatever radio station comes on next

the next big stars cry to us about tractor beams

i do not think you will mind the aliens

i think you have always loved them

that every day you have found something new

to love

the world unfolds

around your hiding spots

and every magazine has our own rearranged faces on the cover

it’s me, roxanne - the only one

true lavender built from toxic waste

i’ve got a skull instead of a mind now

but this wig still fits, and this lace still fits

and i think i could marry you

i think i could marry you

i want married things to happen to you