Sleeping in the Train Yard

Where we starve for a high
and find love in all the wrong places
This is the place of real nightmares
And everything is a mistake

Here is a man, a man that stands before me
I can smell Hell on his breath
And his eyes, his eyes, his eyes cut right through me
His smile reads of death
Everything he says, he says with such intentions
Of replacing any recognition of anything you knew
Nobody wins, nobody wins

The end is near I can feel it on my neck
Caused by the belief in second hand grace
He'll be there won't he? He'll be there won't he?
To call this conflict
Call it lust
Call it something
Call it dust
He'll be there won't he?
I am free to taste this fruit
With a sword and an armored suit...

Tuck coat tails and run...