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..."