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lyrics: J. Morse © 1983 Every night, he sits, narrowed eyes staring At a green arena inside a dim arcade Lines it up, confident, takes the shot and smiles Casually pleased with the game that he's just played There's other things that he could do But he won't admit that's true And he'll swear that it's all because of you Lonely life out on the streets, nowhere to go Taking anything that anyone will freely give He lights a smoke, and eyes the rack, and lines up for the break This to him is all, it's the way that he must live He'll take you on when the money's shown 'Cause he's on the streets alone You discarded him, deprived him of a home Wasted youth - what's a kid to do? Living off his friends, thanks to you Wasting away in the shadows. . . Nothing else to do, thanks to you Fifty dollars in, packs the cue and leaves Same old thing each night, that's what he calls a life Out into the night, walking darkened sidewalks Always looking for the sharp end of a knife But it doesn't really matter now He used to care but he's forgotten how You've changed his life around somehow |