You did your share with Colorado And had your Dalliance in the East Devouring all these friends that you had Barely met Until the names and faces melted into One peculiar beast Of bedposts and affairs that you might well regret And to say I miss your face Would come up short in painting this It's a struggle just to get my sketches down As I lean across my papers and I slowly fall asleep And dream about the death of our old town And I guess sometimes the trouble with it is The trouble doesn't trouble me at all So I wake up in this parking lot, and raise up all These blinds to a world that just ain't talking Much at all Just consumed by anything that has a password or A screen, and the place has lots its Sympathetic core But there is something to this quiet and these Silent city streets, and this picture here of you Walking with me, and the thought of how It's probable we will never dance again And the fact that that's just how it's got to be And I guess sometimes the trouble with it is The trouble doesn't trouble me at all