Take me homeJust take me homeYeah, just take me homeOh, whoa, oh(Out of style)

I said, "I've been there too a few times"

He says, "What you heard is true, but ICan't stop thinkin' 'bout you and I"

Fade into view, oh

I say, "I heard, ohThat you've been out and about with some other girl, some other girl"

Takes me homeThe lights are off, he's taking off his coat, mm, yeah

He can't keep his wild eyes on the road, mm

So it goes

And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt

Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time

And I got that red lip classic thing that you like

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye

And I should just tell you to leave 'cause IKnow exactly where it leads, but IWatch us go 'round and 'round each time

t's been a while since I have even heard from you (heard from you)

Could end in burning flames or paradise

Long drive

You come and pick me up, no headlights

Midnight

Boys only want love if it's tortureDon't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya

But you'll come back each time you leave'Cause, darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

I get drunk on jealousy

"Oh, my God, who is she?"

I can make all the tables turnRose garden filled with thorns

Screaming, crying, perfect storms

Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh, no

Find out what you wantBe that girl for a month

You're the King, baby, I'm your Queen

Stolen kisses, pretty lies

I could show you incredible things

Cherry lips, crystal skies

But I've got a blank space, babyAnd I'll write your name

Got a long list of ex-loversThey'll tell you I'm insane

It'll leave you breathlessOr with a nasty scar

We'll take this way too far

'Cause we're young and we're reckless

Cause you know I love the playersAnd you love the game

Got a long list of ex-loversThey'll tell you I'm insane

You can tell me when it's over, mmhIf the high was worth the pain

flames

So it's gonna be foreverOr it's gonna go down in flames

Grab your passport and my handI can make the bad guys good for a weekend

And I know you heard about meSo hey, let's be friendsI'm dying to see how this one ends

Ain't it funny rumors fly

I can read you like a magazine

New money, suit and tie

Love's a game, wanna play?" Ay

"Oh, my God, look at that faceYou look like my next mistakeLove's a game, wanna play?" Ay

Saw you there and I thought

Magic, madness, heaven, sin

I could show you incredible things

where you been?

He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

n each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees

But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

And to whom I was like to give offense. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out,

If I could put a notion in his head: ‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’ Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more:

‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’ We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance:

We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go.

day we meet

I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line

No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there.

The gaps I mean,

Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding

The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair

And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

seem filled with the intent

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

Repeated       evidence has proved that it can live       on what can not revive              its youth. The sea grows old in i

ll the physical features of ac-cident—lack       of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and       hatchet strokes, these things stand              out on it; the chasm-side is dead.

Allexternal       marks of abuse are present on this       defiant edifice—

slide each on the other.

bespattered jelly fish, crabs like green       lilies, and submarine              toadstools, slide each on the other.

The water drives a wedge       of iron through the iron edge

turquoise

split like spun       glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness       into the crevices—              in and out, illuminating theturquoise sea       of bodies.

The barnacles which encrust the side       of the wave, cannot hide              there for the submerged shafts of the sun,

opening and shutting itself like aninjured fan.

Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps       adjusting the ash-heaps;

wadethrough black jade.

the air like a cherished possession

by himself now and laying it gently    against the glass for a lay-up, but losing his balance in the process,    inexplicably falling, hitting the floor with a wild, headlong motion for the game he loved like a country and swiveling back to see an orange blur    floating perfectly through the net.

until the guard finally lunges out    and commits to the wrong man

both forwards racing down the court the way that forwards should, fanning out and filling the lanes in tandem, moving    together as brothers passing the ball

of a high, gliding dribble and a man    letting the play develop in front of him in slow motion, almost exactly like a coach’s drawing on the blackboard

and for once our gangly starting center    boxes out his man and times his jump

A hook shot kisses the rim and hangs there, helplessly, but doesn’t drop,