Don't switch on the radio, it never shuts up,
there's too much news in my head.
In greasy hotels, sick musicians
and pretty girls with too much perfume.

Stop, I'm getting out baby, maybe it's better;
I'm ot excited about the journey
and I don't need love.

Guitar thieves testing
hair-loss lotions.
Come to my heart, if you want to go to a desert
scorched by the flame of yearning

Stop, I'm getting out baby,
it'll be better;
I'm not excited about the journey
and I don't need love.
It's too late to lose
and to win;
a cardboard tree at the empty window.

Bright, naked land, as bright as you;
perfumed poppies and rusty iron.

Stop, I'm getting out baby,
it'll be better;
I'm not excited about the journey
and I don't need love.
It's too late to lose
and to win;
a world made of cardboard at the empty window.
Stop, I'm getting out baby,
it'll be better;
I'm not excited about the journey
and I don't need love.
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