And tonight the coastline is quiet. It's quieter than it's ever been. Honey, this town is a prison. With its four walls closin' in. . And they got one pill to make you smaller.
I cut my teeth on the stone of a teenage romance. I was the salt of the earth, I was hard. The last of the independents. . And in the breath from my chest I was blowing kerosene.
Don't write me no more letters. My mailbox is full of bombs. Between you and the kooks on my block. I don't remember the good times. I wasn't there and you were kind.
We were the magnificent dreamers. In secret lamplight hideouts. We swore the world couldn't break us. Even when the world took us down. . So here I am strugglin' out in the mighty jungle.
We are the last of the jukebox Romeos. We are romantics by the light of the fourway. We came to sing out a chorus, reinvent the good times. And bring it all back home again.
We turn it up, we turn it up. We're coming up, we're coming up. . Out in the streets I hear the crack of thunder. People keeping low, people searching for some cover.