Savage night on a misty island. lights wink out in 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.
Ive gone back to paris, london, and even riding on a
Jumbo to bombay.
The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people
Here know theyre o.k.
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
On her rock island.
Doesnt everyone have their own rock island? their own little
Patch of sand?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find
You can hardly stand.
And just as youre drowning, well, the tide goes down.
And youre back on your rock island.
Hey there girlie with the torn dress, shaking: who was it
Touched you? who was it ruined your day?
Whose footprint calling card? and what they want, stepping
On your beach anyway?
Ill be your life raft out of here, but youd only drift right
Back to your rock island.
Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing `tween the ears
But that hard rock sound.
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune, no use waiting
For that c.b.s. to come around.
`cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to your
Rock island.
Развернуть
Свернуть