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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
Corpses in cardboard boxes
A mystery to the world
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
Corpses in cardboard boxes
A mystery to the world
I don't feel exalted driving Japanese cars
And I don't see the value
Of losing paths like well-made rafts
It's not enough to cling to
Something I was driving haunts my recollection
And my frozen face
It warrents your affection
And I hate the fact
I always hate the fact
I'd like a room in St. Petersburg
With rotting walls and character
Where I can hide from strangers' eyes
And be a mystery to the world
And be a mystery to the world