every time that you shout from across the streetnnever comes out a sound, just the way you look at menwhat have you heard about menfrom those kids I always see you hangin' out withnwhat kind of gossip and calculationsnnwe've got something to hide on my side of townnno it's no real surprise, but word gets aroundnI don't know what you heard about menfrom those kids I always see you hangin' out withntheir only outlet: indignationnnWhen they call up your house you're nowhere to be foundnsay you're not coming out, but you'll still come aroundnI know you're no good with secretsnyou always seem to forget just what the point isnI hear the words slip out of your lips