Born in the troubled city,
in Rock and Roll, USA.
In the shadow of the tallest building,
I vowed I would break away.
Listened to the Sunday actors,
but all they would ever say:

"That you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away.
No, you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away."

Schooled on the city sidewalks,
coldness at every turn.
Knew I had to find the exits,
I never ever would return.
Scoffed at the prophet's omens
that said I would live to learn:

"That you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away.
No, you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away."

Going unaided toward the west coast,
stopped in the sleepy town.
Left my change and walked out,
I didn't even turn around.
What they were getting next to
was that old familiar sound:

"That you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away.
No, you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away."

In a hotel room in Amsterdam
on a wild and windy August night.
As a cloud passed over a cold moon,
my heart was seized with terror and fright,
Seeping up through the [bad word] in through the [bad word] in through the doorway,
ringing up and down the halls:

"That you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away.
No, you can't get away from it,
no, you can't get away."

No, you can't get away.
No, you can't get away.
No, you can't get away.