There's a fence or a hedge around every yard
Every house is a separate kingdom
Fat little suburban monarchs
Roosters ruling their roosts
They roll out each morning in their cars
To return in the evening to TV and dinners
Prepared by their dutiful automaton wives
In this wasteland disguised as a paradise
Elliott and E.T. rolling down the street
And the dogs bark and bark and bark
There is no place in suburbia for beauty
It would disturb the stability of the yards
The yards, the yards
Where the dogs bark, and the grass grows
Grows, like black weeds curling round their hearts
Cold hearts, as they always will be
In suburbia