When it's 4:30 in the morning   And the vacuum sucks you in   The tell tale trace of guilt upon your face   The sidewalk feels just like your skin   When your heart is full of winter   And your days become like living in a lie   And the clouds outside your bedroom windowpane   Resemble crippled children limping slowly 'cross the sky   When you grasp at straws like forgotten songs   And your memory's short but the days are too long   Every dream that you bought seems to slip right through your hands   Well, love has got disorders   And work has got demands      Don't say a word   Don't make a sound   Just might be going down      And when the sun is pounding on the pavement   And the streets are dripping sex   And murder gets to sounding like a kind of inner peace   And everybody wants to know what's going to happen next   Well, I won't give away the end my little troubadour   Though I've been here before and I can't bear to watch the rest   But don't you blink   Don't close your eyes or it will pass you by   The weight of history is hanging on your chest      Don't say a word   Don't make a sound   Just might be going down      Well, your problem's sticking with you   Just like flies up on a strip you crawl inside your head   But it ain't worth the trip   You rearrange the furniture   But it always looks the same   Christ on a crutch [too late, too much] call it a day      Don't say a word   Don't make a sound   Just might be going down   Could be you're going down...