Out past the trees there is nothing to burn
   Just an empty gas station, left to me in a will
   Just a plate of bad habits and plenty of salt for the wounds
   Just a plate of bone china and plenty of salt for the wounds
   At night there are voices
   By the old station house
   They come from an angel with a kerosene tongue
   She say's: "there is trouble, a trouble that no one can name"
   She say's: "help is too late when the memory doesn't remain"
  
   Blown down the wind
   Let the trouble begin
   Get blown away
   Never look back again
  
   Down on the troubled wind
   Down on the troubled wind
  
   You can come on the nightbus and spend a few days
   You can set some explosions and fall asleepi n this bed
   But I know that you won't stay with hundreds of miles to go
   Trouble has no friends when trouble needs some place to go
  
   Blown down the wind
   Let the trouble begin