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When you land in Paris and they wave you right through |
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Though your passport picture, doesn't look much like you |
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They don't look at your luggage, they don't look at your face |
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'Cause you pose no danger and you're such a disgrace |
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You go out walking down the Champs D'Elysees |
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And your spirits are sinking, it can happen that way |
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When you do your best Bogart and they don't seem to care |
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They walk right down the sidewalk like you ain't even there |
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Lookin' in the wrong direction |
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Seein' it from the inside out |
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The way you couldn't wait for Christmas |
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The way you used to twist and shout |
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It must be the jet lag, you hope it'll pass |
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You check your reflection in the store front glass |
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Kinda gray at the temples, kinda goes with the hat |
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Kinda round in the middle but it ain't even that |
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It's nothing you can see, it's nothing you can smell |
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But you pose no danger and man they can tell |
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Lookin' in the wrong direction |
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Seein' it from the inside out |
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The way you couldn't wait for Christmas |
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The way you used to twist and shout |
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You see it in the mirror in the morning |
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You feel it in the middle of the night |
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Sleeping with your eyes wide open |
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Waking with the shades drawn tight |
