Red. Blue.
  Where are you tonight,
  you say everything just right everything's just right.
  I live on a dead end street where men and women meet.
  The countries really far from me.
  Where the seasons get universal.
  Yeah, the seasons get universal
  why are you still surprised by a quart of gin and a quarter scotch,
  a quiet airplane and a half-hour off the clock.
  Where are you?
  Your hair knows.
  Your hair knows the top of your T-shirt
  and your back was up in arms about it.
  But I'm not as good as the inner states are;
  I can't take you that far.
  To a polish town in German tongues
  and in time with Irish rounds he thinks every Russian girl is you.
  Did he hear? He didn't hear here.