I've got two boxes paved with rockets Where all my best friends sit When they smile, I take their jackets And give them a spin We'll be 45 forever, and we'll all be scratched and cold But at least we'll have each other Some black, some plaqued with gold And I won't sit here waiting While the world spins by My best friends are all wax now I keep them on my side 'Cause there's just one thing you need to know when you feel alone; "Make your record bag your family home" We don't write songs, we're out to find them On guitars filled with holes 'Cause home is where the holes are, I've been told They were all written before us An age or two ago Scrawled out on a dusty road by the poets of old I've got miles of broken bookshelves filled with spineless whores Their pages show the bruising from a thousand thumbs before And I won't sit here waiting While the world spins by My best friends are all wax now I keep them on my side 'Cause there's just one thing you need to know when you feel alone; "Make your record bag your family home" So this bed is my sofa Posters hold up these words I was never any good at lying, Sam "I'm not missing you at all..."