Turntable songs burn the light in your eyes,
Far behind screens that you can't seem to find
And now we're old, they'll laugh when they hear us say,
Our faces cold, a winter of sunny days
Galloping into themselves
And someday we'll learn how to drive in the park
And someday we'll learn how to smile in the dark
And still you know, we're still going to ache to fly
And still you know, we're still going to hate to die
And even though our kids sing us lullabies
The days we go, of dinner and pumpkin pies,
No one is finished at all.