You learn at first That word is cursed That home is just a locked door You whisper and shout At despair and doubt They can knock until they are sore Because I'm never around I'm a picture without sound I'm a ceiling without a floor Even in this fabulous confusion I don't get excited much anymore Our place in town Is being stripped down Into gunpowder, grease, and gears Where will we go To sing and dance slow And reel in our remaining years? Wrapped up in airs As we try not to care As our hobbies become chores Down here every night is a weekend I don't get excited much anymore I might buy the place Clean up its face Find a payment I can afford I wouldn't change I'd just rearrange That jukebox and dartboard Even rumours need rest There's plastic in the press And each of you can keep the score Down here every night is a weekend I don't get excited much anymore