A cockeyed old man with his beard in his hand
Is talking of things that I don’t understand
He rambles on that and he mumbles on this
He’s scratching his head like there’s something he’s
         missed

There goes Bicycle Mike and One-Eyed Jones
Where they are going, no one quite knows
It’s the look in their eyes as the night stars spy from the
         sky

Here in this city of concrete and glass
Sometimes I’m thinking we’re not going to last
Here in this city of concrete and haze
Sometimes I’m thinking I’m counting my days

Some baby-faced whore leans through a shiny car door
Asking some John if he’s been here before
She says the backstreet motel rents out by the hour
"I don’t need no candy and I don’t need no flowers from
         you."

Here in this city of concrete and glass
Sometimes I’m thinking we’re not going to last
Here in this city of concrete and haze
Sometimes I’m thinking I’m counting my days