The light is green, but you're not moving.
It's a stoplight, after all.
It's not a go light.
It ain't your night.
You need a bug-light, so you can pop and crawl.
The surgery's over and you're bouncing back
to spill your guts, friend.
But, hey, not on my pants.
You're not out of luck. You still got half a pack of cigarettes.
It's enemy, lonely, lonely boy.
Why don't you go see a show?
It's a surefire cure.
Pretend the drumbeat is your heart.
Double Joe.
Double Joe.
He ain't afraid of his cymbals.
All those jumping jacks,
they're just heart attacks.
That sugar smacks you every time.
You wanna be anonymous.
You could be like parallel lines.
You want to be untouchable,
or you can be a hologram.
But home is where you hang out,
ot where you hang yourself.
Life is just a fleeting opportunity
to do a belly-dance on an atomic particle.
Existence is essence and love is just a silly aftertaste.
It's enemy, lonely, lonely, boy.
Why don't you go see a show?
It's a surefire cure.
Pretend the drumbeat is your heart.
Double Joe.
Double Joe.
He ain't afraid of his cymbals.
Double Joe.
He ain't afraid of his cymbals.