When we got to Boston, we knew we'd missed a turn
No one back in traffic school had
told us there are signs that can't be learned
Geography's too stubborn and people are too clear,
so let's go find a road-side motel with a clerk who won't tell
Days will turn into nights, nights will turn into days, weeks, seasons, and years
We'll stay for years

Red and white for blood cells, red and white for wine
They could be the whole damn spectrum if
we'd all just let them Lord, it's such a crime
Working on an inch less waistband in the
strip mall wasteland outside of this town,
or clawing at the penthouse kitchen floor for just one smidgen
more,
everybody knows, everybody knows that it's in
The fix is in

Let's go back to Boston Forget about the turn
Atlases and gas station attendants are none of our concern
We'll forge a little life dear (oh dear) and double down our debts,
and I guess it stands to reason that the passing seasons will
slowly dull regrets
Working on an inch less waistband in the strip mall wasteland
outside of this town,
or clawing at the penthouse kitchen floor for just one smidgen
more,
everybody knows, everybody knows that it's in
The fix is in