There are grey skies in our blue eyes, but this is not a protest song. This is just static on the hotel intercom, softer than dust and louder than bombs. And the world's not ours tonight in a Berlin flat lit by neon lights. My boyfriend's in the stairwell, he looks just like James Dean, and nothing else matters when you're 17. And the German boys sing, and the German boys talk. Some kids have plans to rule the world, some kids have plans to run away. And you do what you can or you do what you must at the door of the punk rock club, at work at the factory. And the world won't end tonight on a black highway lit by neon lights. My boyfriend's in the driver's seat, he drives just like James Dean, and nothing else matters when you're 17. And the German boys sing, and the German boys talk. Some kids have plans to rule the world, some kids have plans to run away. And you do what you can or you do what you must at the door of the punk rock club, at work at the factory. There are gray skies in our blue eyes, but this is not a protest song.
