Oh, my beloved Tania How I long to see your face Photographed in fifteen second intervals In a bank in San Leandro A Polaroid of you, Cinque With a seven-headed dragon In a house in Daly City Don't be sad, my beloved Tania They say your father never liked Stephen Weed anyway Hired a detective To follow him around Oh, my beloved revolutionary sweetheart I can see your newsprint face turn yellow in the gutter It makes me sad How I long for the days when you came to liberate us from boredom From driving around from five to seven in the evening My beloved Tania, We carry your gun deep within our hearts For no better reason than our lives have no meaning And we want to be on television
