She was 17 and though her father called her Pretty, the boys never came around.

In her bedroom you could find on her walls and in her mind the music she thought she found.

Summer spent on Loe Street were often hard to bear.

Senseless to those not broken.

But you’d never find them there.

Learn to pawn your things, learn to drink away your dreams.

Die a full grown refugee.

She held her father’s head, he wished he was dead.

Unlock the combination of bad choices.

More she looked at him, his thin and lonesome grin, the louder the music and the voices.

Go now. Now Go.

Go now. Now Go.

Cars were made for driving, planes for flying,

And the country made for roads can never hold her.

You don’t ask her to go back there.

There’s nothing aside the track there, and no train to take her home.

Hard as she tried she never made it from the street.

She met a boy. Took the crumbs he gave her.

Her children left her alone, and headed out to roam, never once returning to hold her.

Cloud of poison gas is leaking out the radio.

Have we seen last good times from the microphone?

Bought our tickets to get into the show, now we’re running to catch the last train home.

Pick up. Pick up.

I know your home.

Sit up. Sit up.

Breathe into the phone.

I’m so tired, I can’t hear the baby crying but it’s a sin to sleep through the morning.

I stop production and set under a tree.

Can this poor man’s church set this young man free?

Pick up. Pick up.

I know your home.

Look up. Look up.

Breathe into the phone.

There’s a signal hovering over America.

AM radio beats us all into hysteria.

We’ll send a rocket ship to your Tranquility Base,

Where the sunlight owns the dark side of your face.

Pick up. Pick up.

I know your home.

Wake up. Wake up.

The baby's alone.