stretch marks are all healing
and the age of wonder's ended
all the heroes are high schoolers
and all the villains apprehended
something sinister seems missing
like a disco with no floors
there's no pennies in the fountains
and no adventures without swords
and i've wasted all my summer nights
in factories and trash-bins
like my days are epic poems
in which nothing really happens
and it won't be her i'll be missing
just that sad late-summer ache
just the constant listening to Pet Sounds
at midnight around the lake
and i know that something's burning
though i only find the ash
like a leviathan lurking
somewhere deep below the splash
so lend me all your submarines
and take me to your caverns
all the pipes are screaming space ships
in the tvs and the taverns
and when i'm tired of dreaming bar-stools
i'll go home and dream in bed
but those hackneyed stories have no wonder
and the villains are all dead
and it won't be her i'll be missing
just that sad melodic sigh
and how i could stand so tiny
but with my fists up in the sky
and I felt it in the desert
and it shook me half awake
and I saw it in chicago
in the lights and in the lake
and i felt it in the suburbs
and i dreamed it in my bed
and i'll sing it 'til i get dried out
or i'm boring or i'm dead
now i'm peddling pink cashmere
though ask why, i could not say
and the gears are ever turning
every minute, every day
and if i don't keep up running
make me terrible and grey
we can watch that summer feeling
get swallowed up by the days
(and I'm going to run to the beach, now
and I'm going to run to the beach, now
and I'm gonna run to the beach, now)
and so i'll just run and run
and the gears'll be undone
and i'll just run and run
and the gears'll be undone
and if i'll just run and run
and the gears'll be undone
and i'll just run and run
the gears'll be undone