When it's cold, it grows hungry; listen how it bays.
In the broken-backed city there is always the dog.
On the edges of silence somewhere in the rain
And the damp velvet drizzle there echoes again the dog.
From the white city mansions of high level sound
To the derelict slumber that centres around the dog,
The voice-over hushes, they mute the refrain,
As the decibel pushes project once again the dog.
And there was no emptiness easier to sell,
No loneliness greater than that which befell the dog.
Only the echoing whimpers remain
As Hollywood rests, resurrecting again the dog.
When it's cold, it grows hungry; listen how it bays.
In the broken-backed city there is always the dog.
On the edges of silence somewhere in the rain
And the damp velvet drizzle there echoes again the dog...