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

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

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