Buzzcocks: Stars

He wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)He wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)He is poised to a very strange degreeWrapped up in emotional imagerySmall and senseless on an alter ego tripHe wants to alter your every ego tripNothing specialNothing to see meNothing doingNothing with meNothing muchAnd nothing to do with meHe wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)He wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)He is awash in competing theoriesHe's glad to be out of the houseIt's that time of the eveningI need to have some feelingI'm all surface tension no pretensionKeeps you going, gets you nowherePresent tense in the worst person singularHe wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)He wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)Because the message is cheap and exhilaratingNow he's slobbering on the glassA sexistic boy having a world wide wankHe says well that's very punk of meNothing specialNothing to see meNothing doingNothing with meNothing muchAnd nothing to do with meHe wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are really dead(He cries until the stars in his eyes are dead)He wants to cry until the stars in his eyes are dead