Dirty faces, packed suitcasesnRun for planes with untied lacesnIn a hailstorm, setting sail fornPlaces we fight tooth and nail fornnBets are placednThe odds are thinnThe gun's been shotnThe race beginsnThe wheels will turnnThe top will spinnFor me, for she, for her, for himnnWake on the shores of a distant landnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnSunburned back with my face in the sandnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnnWinning races, stealing basesnBack to back, still dirty facesnSketch the traces, tie the lacesnDot to dot to different placesnnFinish linenIs once againnCrossed withoutnAdrenalinenThe wheels will turnnThe tops will spinnFor me, for she, for her, for himnnWake on the shores of a distant landnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnSunburned back with my face in the sandnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnEight hands pound on the concert grandnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnWe'll dance on the stage or we'll sit in the standsnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnnThe wheels will turnnThe top will spinnFor me, for she, for her, for himnnWake on the shores of a distant landnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnSunburned back with my face in the sandnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnGlass worn thin from the grains of sandnThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the bandnFresh fruit's best when it's ripe and cannednThe hair, the TV, the baby, and the band