I was walking alone in an unfamiliar town when the
buildings started to shiver and shake.
Shimmering rain came down in sheets
and then glittered like glass on the empty streets.
I could see your face in the wind;
I could hear the orchestral storm begin to sing:
"It's the end, it's the goddamn end!
Come on, baby, light that fire!"
It's a matter of simple deduction.
It's a matter of complete control.
You can hold hands with the man in the tower,
but you just can't guarantee a place for your soul.
So there I was, right? Stuck in the street.
Not a soul for miles, on my own two feet.
Glittering glass, piles of trash,
stuttering into the w-w-wind.
I could see your face in the air,
I could taste your skin on my lips.
But this is the end, this is the END!
Come on, baby, light that fire!
