the whispers from the walls fall like feathers to the ground
i walk upon these cemetary streets
and i don't speak the language of the skeletons that i meet
the acid from the architecture is burning the place down
i wander through these solitary streets
they're empty as an afterthought in purple pools of gasoline
the river's all in flames
the coffee burns like kerosene and the color of my world is brown
i look out on these melancholy streets
it's quiet as a photograph and lonley as my vanity
the river's all in flames
i'm never going to leave this ghostown