Texty: Strung Out. Blackhawks Over Los Angeles. Downtown.

Tonight, I feel you coming down.
I feel you coming over me like broken glass,
Falling down to cut my dreams.
Now, if these walls could only talk,
They'd say no more than I can say here with a grin,
a bottle and Saint Anthony.

My thoughts are turning on me now
And the pace with every footstep, takes me farther down
The dark end of the street that you call home.
Confessions, stories, chances left behind.
All show their faces in every stranger that I find.

There's something you don?t wanna know.
There's something I don?t wanna say.
Transmission on the radio. No direction, no way home.
There's something going wrong with us.
There's something broken in our eyes.

Caress the emptiness and pour another drink
and wash away these memories,
These dirty walls with gasoline....
The faces here don?t have a thing to hide.
They tell the story of every broken heart survived.

There's something you don?t wanna know.
There?s something I don?t wanna say...
That if we make it out alive,
there's more to life than to survive!
There's something going wrong with us,
there's something broken in our eyes.

Tonight, I feel you coming over me.
Tonight, I don?t wanna feel a thing.
Now we never ever planned to go this far.
We never ever thought that it would get this dark.

There's something you don?t wanna know.
There's something I don?t wanna say.
Transmission on the radio. No direction, no way home.
There's something going wrong with us.
There's something broken in our eyes.