I stole the bottles and I smashed them on the wall
One by one, link glassine transparent rockets
Gathered them up in my arms after the show
Some in suit coats’ inside pockets
Austin to Tucson, malady trouble in the van
Red wine against the tall-boy cans
I still believe in the perfect kind of band
God help me, website like this in the perfect kind of man

And that someday we’ll make it, baby
Someday we’ll get paid back for it
Someday we’ll get payback for the things we put in
Then we can forget about it forever

An apple in one hand, cheese in the other
Bottle of wine next to the seat
Rock, rinse, repeat, rock, rinse, repeat
Biting off bits, calling it dinner
A rank of chilled and vagrant cynics, lined up for the swill, some sinners
Left an Econoline carcass in a desert grave
Front right wheel splayed like a gull’s wing on a tidal wave
All the roadside cafes sell turquoise and fudge
It’s easy to get lost if you want it too much

But someday we’ll make it, baby
Someday we’ll get paid back for it
Someday we’ll get payback for the things we put in
Then we can forget about it forever

My perfect band has matching suits and matching boots
And days of wine and roses
And we stay up most nights holding courts and practicing our poses
On a street called hope in a town named freedom
Where each clock is pointed to the hour of love
We celebrate the days we have, yeah, we celebrate our love

I will phrase my regrets in the form of a song
How we couldn’t survive, how we couldn’t get along
Put down the guitars
There’s nothing new to play with them
Put down the microphones
Nothing new to say with them
Just celebrate the days we had, just celebrate our love
Celebrate the days we have, and celebrate our love