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 to 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 sex

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 pass 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 [too late, too much] call it a day



Don't say a word

Don't make a sound

Just might be going down

Could be you're going down...