Lost satellites, lost in satellite towns.
But the things she tears up
are the things that I write down.
Walking these streets
like two filmless filmstars,
I need a diamond ring,
she needs a speeding car.

In suburbia, in suburbia. in suburbia.
We're aliens in our own world,
aliens in our own world,
aliens in our own world, her and I.

Holding her here, everyday is life and death, from the factory to the strip mall discoteque. Lost satellites that no one recovered.
When things go wrong,
they just send another.

In suburbia, in suburbia. in suburbia.
We're aliens in our own world,
aliens in our own world, aliens in our own world, her and I.

Lost and lonely, waiting to crash.
You a­re Joan of Arc.
I'm Andy Warhol.
We're aliens in our own world.