You've got shotnYou've taken a lotnYou just don't want this to endnWe've got time to spendnnWe've got the factsnSo why can't you relax?nYou don't like it, keep it at baynThink I'd rather staynRather stay insidenAnd it's open widennWho will hold their heads tonight?nThe brightest bulbs are turning whitenBetween their palms, their steady thumbsnBelow the call the stadiumsnThe people with their hands abovenThe only thing you're thinking ofnIt's not enoughnIt's not enoughnIt's not enoughnnYou've got chopsnYou hit the same spotsnHe swears that you've wrapped it too tightnHe's been up all nightnnWringing his hands while you strike up the bandnHe don't like it, don't want it that waynThink I'd rather playnRather play insidenAnd it makes me crynnTap your feet, shake your headsnThough someone put us back to bednWe're going through our past careersnLike quiet faith's favorite fearsnAnd praying for someone so fairnI'd like to push you down the stairsnRight down the stairsnRight down the stairsnRight down the stairsnThe stairs