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...