I'm comin' over See me down at the station By the lane With my hands in my pocket Jingling a wish coin That I stole from a fountain That was drowning all the cares in the world When I get older Climbin' up on the back porch fence

Just one last time Even though it hurts I can’t slow down Walls are closing in and I hit the ground With “there’s no tomorrow” echo in my mind This is the end station But I can’t move away from you This is the edge of patience But you’ll prove yourself

Roll to every station, murder the DJ If hip hop should die before I wake I'll put an extended clip inside of my AK Hip hop just died this mornin' And she's dead, she's dead Grindin', hittin' Brazilian dimes from behind Yeah, niggaz smoke, laugh, party,

They go from getting buzzed into wasted Might not remember what they're sayin' A honky-tonk station Spendin' what you spent the week makin' Ask a little hottie what her name is Radio turned up and playin' loud The whole world's asleep and we're wide

Land of the free, land of the free In the land of the free I'm standing crying (oh oh oh oh) Can't wipe the wind-blown smile from across my face It's just the old man in me Washing his truck at the Sinclair station In the land of the free (ooh) His

I wonder what it's like To attack at night And now down the defenseless Invasions and raids just called Fucking, punitive expeditions Like a wildfire Devastation spreads Across all gallia From helvetia to eburonia

As the cafe was closing On a warm summer night And Cathy was cleaning the spoons The radio played the hit parade And I hummed a long with the tune She asked me to change the station Said the song just drove her insane But it weren't just the music playing

Of your teenage station "He's alive, he's alive" Yeah, you cried and you cried Everybody here Comes from somewhere And disguise How you cried and you cried And you cried and you cried You don't have to explain

I went down to the station, just to take a ride. Run, run, run, run. If you see me acomin', don't you waste my time. Found myself on a flatcar, yesterday behind. Pullin' out from the platform, there was no brass band. I pulled out from the platform,

Love throw a line On you and me Just before the blood runs into the valley Let's write a story of, a title wave We run out of luck, we run out of days We run out of gas, hundred miles away From a station There's a war and a plague yeah, smoke and