| Caught the twelve thirty from ashmont station
|
| 32 ounces with the rum mixed in God knows I need it with the way I’ve been living
|
| Self medicated, chemical salvation
|
| Afternoon show up at central station
|
| When the music hits I don’t feel no pain
|
| Now I’m outside in the cold again trying to find my way
|
| The sun is setting in the combat zone
|
| The streets are empty all the bars are closed
|
| And I’m walking thru government center
|
| Trying to make my way back home
|
| Dodging the cops at the ATMs
|
| Three third hand suits and a record collection
|
| From late night raids on the salvation army bins
|
| Whatever God I pray to must be broke as me Got a busted 4 track and a dead end job
|
| Up at the downs on friday trying to make it pay off
|
| On a twelve to one, but I got shut out
|
| Man I’d be late to my own fuckin’funeral
|
| Check the headlines passing out of town news
|
| Says the world is still fucked and run by fools
|
| And it don’t seem to matter which drugs you use
|
| It still turns out the same
|
| The sun is setting in the combat zone
|
| The streets are empty all the bars are closed
|
| And I’m walking thru government center
|
| Trying to make my way back home
|
| This record spins the same old song
|
| The speaker’s blown and the needle’s worn
|
| Don’t matter nothing in the end
|
| They say when you leave
|
| You can never go home again
|
| The sun is setting in the combat zone
|
| The streets are empty all the bars are closed
|
| And I’m walking thru government center
|
| Trying to make my way back home |