Savage night on a misty island. Lights wink out in the
Canyon walls
Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails in
The unwashed halls
And all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island

I've gone back to Paris, London, and even riding on a
Jumbo to Bombay
The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people
Here know they're o.k
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
On her Rock Island

Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island? Their own little
Patch of sand?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find
You can hardly stand
And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down
And you're back on your Rock Island

Hey there girlie with the torn dress, shaking: who was it
Touched you? Who was it ruined your day?
Whose footprint calling card? And what they want, stepping
On your beach anyway?
I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right
Back to your Rock Island
Hey, boy with the personal stereo: nothing 'tween the ears
But that hard rock sound
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune, No use waiting
For that C.B.S. to come around
'Cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to your
Rock Island