| I could see as I rode in |
| The ships were gone and the pit filled in |
| A funeral bell called the hour in |
| A lonesome drunk was stumbling |
|
| Not a twang of a guitar |
| Not a siren wailed in pain |
| Not even a shadow of desire |
| In the pouring, pouring rain |
|
| Breeze black windows in dead streets |
| Where I was lived up on the cheap |
| "Ask no questions, work and sleep" |
| Said the old time ghosts on dead streets |
|
| I could hear the shout, but not the pain |
| Some lucky stranger in the rain |
| I could hear the shout, but not the pain |
| To some lucky stranger in the rain |
|
| Well, hammers beat in dusty times |
| On these weedy, rusted lines |
| Mocking the sun and optimistic signs |
| Above the chained-off gates of iron |
|
| The sun won't shine this way again |
| The lucky moon went on the wane |
| Oh, I never saw a star again |
| In the pouring, pouring rain |
|
| Groove by the sharp Italian feets |
| The corner shops with scissor teeth |
| Clippin' the life from weary me |
| Talkin' em down on HP Street, yeah, have mercy |
|
| The army band plays in the train |
| That's some trombone and some refrain |
| The future points to the weathervane |
| In the pouring, pouring rain |
|
| Could hear the shout, but not the pain |
| Some lucky stranger in the rain |
| Could hear the shout, but not the pain |
| To some lucky stranger in the rain |
|