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Now the houses are ghosts |
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Over Silver Street |
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They got 'em dressed up like clowns |
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Married couples slamming doors |
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Bums praising the Lord |
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You're playing tapes for the town |
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Now the neighbourhood's mixed |
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And your college friends |
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Are getting younger every year |
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The wind don't blow |
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And the grass don't grow |
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You're never leaving Silver Street |
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You bought some brown wire-frames |
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At a junk shop |
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And that was you trademark at school |
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Now they're barely hanging on |
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And the styles are moving on |
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It's hard for a man to stay cool. |
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So the seasons change and the storefronts change |
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While everything else stays the same |
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The wind don't blow and the grass don't grow |
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You'll never leaving Silver Street |
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But now don't get me wrong |
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cause, oh-woah-oh, I |
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like this neighborhood |
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oh, and seeing you is good |
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But now we spend the day so completely uninspired |
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Asking why oh why should I be |
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tired |
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They're filling the pot holes in on Silver Street |
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They're waking the neighbors up at noon |
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Now you're friends are out on break |
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And you're out on your brown lawn |
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Raking the dirt with a broom |
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Well the seasons change and the storefronts change |
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While everything else stays the same |
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The wind don't blow and the grass don't grow |
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You never leave Silver Street |
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Never leaving, never leaving, |
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never leaving, never leaving |
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oh, woah-oh, ah |
