Postcard - The Suburbs

I wish you were here but you were not alone

Simple pleasures that’s our bone

What’s that I smell?

It’s Death’s cologne

Trains to Moscow

Trains to Rome

I get no thanks so I’m going home

I love the trains go rambling home

Past mounds of dust where Lincoln died

Often I don’t want to go

Sometimes I can’t help myself

I can’t help myself

I can’t help myself

I can’t help myself

I can’t help myself!

Trains to Moscow

Trains to Rome

I get no thanks so I’m going home

Goodbye!