When it's 4:30 in the morning
And the vacuum sucks you in
The tell tale trace of guilt upon your face
The sidewalk feels just like your skin

When your heart is full of winter
And your days become like living in a lie
And the clouds outside your bedroom windowpane
Resemble crippled children limping slowly 'cross the sky

When you grasp at straws like forgotten songs
And your memory's short but the days are too long
Every dream that you bought seems
T slip right through your hands

Well, love has got disorders
And work has got demands
Don't say a word, don't make a sound
Just might be going down
And when the sun is pounding on the pavement

And the streets are dripping ***
And murder gets to sounding like a kind of inner peace
And everybody wants to know what's going to happen next
Well, I won't give away the end my little troubadour
Though I've been here before and I can't bear
To watch the rest

But don't you blink, don't close your eyes
Or it will p*** you by
The weight of history is hanging on your chest
Don't say a word, don't make a sound
Just might be going down

Well, your problem's sticking with you
Just like flies up on a strip you crawl inside your head
But it ain't worth the trip You rearrange the furniture
But it always looks the same

Christ on a crutch, call it a day
(Too late, too much)
Don't say a word, don't make a sound
Just might be going down
Could be you're going down