"Motorcycle" Lyrics

Bartholomew sits in the back of a pick-up truck
He's on his way to Santa Fe to meet his brother
And to his brother there is no one
Together they will hitchike to Canada
Where they will meet their good friend Joe
Who waits patiently by the side of the road

Lazy on Sunday
Crazy on Thuesday
You're my Coca-Cola, baby
And I'm your misfit pearl

Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line

I can hear you but I can't see you
You've come so close
To becoming someone else
You're a fascination
A dislocation from the mire

Lazy on Sunday
Crazy on Thuesday
You're my Coca-Cola, baby
And I'm your misfit pearl

Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line
Motorcycle, motorcycle
Rubber me down that broken yellow line

This bitter grape has such a sweet aftertaste
A surprise present from the Cuban kid
Thank you mister kid
Thank you

Satchels of prayers
Shall scrape this pilgrimage
Skyscrapers cling
To their paradise in the sky
You and I shall combine the information
And satelite toward a virgin star