Back to the backside, hover as you go,
And everything means nothing as you know.
And sure I know your helping hands are,
Pressed against your picket fence,
But everything means nothing as you know.
So why try?
Take me outside, let's see what made you cold
And call on me, so I can take you home,
So back to the backside folded hands,
Are pressed against the wet cement.
And call on me so I can take you home,
Yeah, you've got it all turned around now,
And sure it's everyone.
Yeah, you've got it all figured out now,