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Oh, she's a dying art, She's a weathered leaf At times of thunderstorm. And he's a prodigal son, With his back to the wall, He's an atomic bomb And she said, she said, she says: I remember you, Your switch-blade eyes. The coolest thing to do, Was to let you come inside. Hands behind my back. My tongue tied. Bare with me now. Lets go for a ride. She's a dying art, She's a weathered leaf At times of thunderstorm. And I'm the prodigal one, With my back to the wall. I'm the atomic bomb And she said, she said, she says: I remember you, Your switch-blade eyes. The coolest thing to do, Was to let you come inside. Hands behind my back. My tongue tied. Bare with me now. Lets go for a ride. I remember you, Your switch-blade eyes. The coolest thing to do, Was to let you come inside. Hands behind my back. My tongue tied. Bare with me now. Lets go for a ride. For a ride. For a ride.