This is not a home, this is an apartment
Surrounded by the things accumulated here
This is not a dream, this is disappointment
Pop a cork alone, to toast another year
Baby we could burn so free
If only you would turn your acetylene on me
Sorta like a cell, kinda like a prison
Spend a lot of time in solitary there
Pamphlet on the door declaring He is risen
Too far out to know, to far gone to care
Baby we could burn so free
If only you would turn your acetylene on me
Baby we could burn so free
If only you would turn your acetylene on me
Baby, baby we could burn so free
If only you would turn your acetylene on me
This is not a home, this is an apartment