It's my turn It's your turn It's my turn Time to leave Take a bag and pack it neat I've got no future so I'm marching east Copses and cardboard boxes A mystery to the world I don't feel exotic driving Japanese cars And I don't see the value Of roofs and paths like well-made graphs It's not enough to cling to Sandy polystyrene haunts my recollection Of a frozen face that wanted your affection And I hid the fact I always hid the fact I'd like a room in St. Petersburg With rotting walls and character Where I can hide and stay inside And be a mystery to the world