Strangers looking fine,
like nothing's on the line,
but deep, deep down inside
we'd all want to resign
if nothing's on the line,
we wouldn't last the night
if nothing's on the line.
I lost you, after Saigon,
I crossed you, like an ocean,
your commons so uncommonly aligned,
I'm waiting
but nothing's on the line,
nothing's on the line . . .
Locomotive shine,
now Whitman's only sign,
we'd like to see him live
but no one's on the line,
no one's on the line
and we won't last the night
if no one's on the line.
I lost you, after Saigon,
I crossed you, like an ocean,
your commons so uncommonly aligned,
I'm waiting
but nothing's on the line,
nothing's on the line . . .