Graduation was bleak, and I was drunk enough to speak
So I offered you a haircut: your mohawk was looking sad enough
You said you liked it that way
We shrugged it off, we said ok
I'm finding out, every time, that I shine a brand new dime
Or when I go through the turnstiles and the tokens cycle back again
The tokens cycle back again
They carry cakes in boxes, those slippery old foxes
Sliding under fences and running into rainy intersections
And dodging yellow traffic, the drivers blinded by red flashes
And I'm thinking about your haircut, wishing I had some tattoos
Maybe then you'd let me cut your hair while whistling the blues
I've covered up all the bases and I've left all stones well turned
And I've built expensive bridges just to let them all get burned
And now the bandits and the farmers will have to wait their turn
You're mine for the taking, and the tokens cycle back again
The tokens cycle back again
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