| Lyrics |
I rode down to the tracks. Thinking they might sing to me. But they juststared back. Broken, trainless, and black as night. Climbed out on to my roof.
So I'd be a poet in the night. Beat the walls off my room. I saw the big roomthat is this life. This is my condition: Naked and hysterical, reaching tograb a hand that I just slapped back at. This is my condition: Desparate,alone, without an excuse. I try to explain. Christ, what's the use? Read and Ileft so small. Some words keep speaking when you close the book. Drank andjust about smiled. Then I remembered us in that bed. Put my ear to the door. Ijust heard hot rods and gunshots and sirens. People kill me these days.
There's keys in their eyes but they lock from the inside.
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