I've got this habit of looking up
at the sky, to stay rooted
cuz souls don't die, I don't think,
they all just get diluted (it's true and)
and sometimes when I'm staring
I ask what am I supposed to do with
all this information?
please give me back my youth.
baby, your eyes are cold and jaded
come with me, and live unpremeditated
and even though you might lose control of what you meant to try to be
it's only vanity
you blame sinners and cigarettes
but you'd better just get over (all) that
cuz that TV's been real busy
making subtlety extinct
were we wiser, maybe if we knew
what starts the souring of a view
then we wouldn't all drink so much
to relax away the kinks
baby, this party makes me feel jaded
so lonely and premeditated
and even though we might lose control of what we meant to try to be
it's only vanity
only vanity
it's not what you mean
or how you dream
about the life you'd like to lead
that's all forgotten, for the way it seems
lookin out on a summer's day
is better when it's on the way
than in retrospect, when your intellect
makes sure that you've forgotten
those side affects we can't prevent
like where april through august went
and how we ripened, and were left
here bruised and cold and rotten
baby, slide on into bed; you've made it
walk in sleep, and the risk is eradicated
now you know, you won't lose control of what you meant to try to be
and it's only vanity
