The man in the polyester suit
thinks that I am childish and rude.
Just because I want to dance inside his street.
I just don't fit inside of his beliefs.
His daughter, she throws up,
just because she wants to keep up.
He thinks that she's so cute,
just as long as she is mute.
Time has finally come to cut away the rope.
Time has finally come to cut away the rope.
Time has finally come to cut away the rope from our neck,
as we twist from the chair we bought at K-mart.
He says he doesn't really want to be the one
to call the police or show his gun.
He cries he has worked hard for his peace.
God knows, he needs relief, he needs release.
His son plays with GI Joes. Why they kill he doesn't know.
He stares in disbelief as his father starts to weep.
Well, the polyester's turning forty-five.
He still remembers when he was alive.
I smile with my eyes and with a glance.
His legs explode as we begin to dance.
For life is much too short to dance with shallow soles,
and it's much too short to dance alone.
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