Last one out is a cold duck. Padding down the road. Won't let it move me, but I can't sit still. Couldn't meet the eyes of a working girl undressed to kill. Rock Island Savage night on a misty island.
Lights wink out on the canyon walls.
Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails in the unwashed halls. And all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the Rock Island. I've gone back to Paris, London, and even riding on a jumbo to Bombay. And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down.