When you strolled into Porphyry
You knew exactly one thing about you
Your name is Trouble
And you didn't have a penny or a clue.
The city's locking up
As the sun is going down.
The streets are empty canyons.
You're a stranger in this town.
Hell, you're a stranger in your life—
And that's trouble.
A run‑in with some sketchy types
Puts you on a slow freighter to nowhere.
And there among your crew,
Some ghostly faces from your past—beware.
Do you really want to know
Why your memories slip like sand?
Why your reflexes are lightning?
Why there's thunder in your hand?
You're a very scary of man—
And you're trouble.
You could build a life
If you could just tear down the walls of secret shame.
You could save your soul
If you could only make the ghosts give up their names
And tell you everything
You don't want to know—
Like who the hell you are.
Who's the man that dogs your tracks?
Who's the child whose laughter haunts your dreams?
It's cold consolation
That out in space nobody hears your screams.
Now you know you're running,
And you might not get away.
But you want to know the secrets;
You pursue them anyway.
You'll find a place to make a stand
And that's trouble.
You'll find a place to take your stand—
And make trouble.
You'll find a place to make your stand,
'Cos you're Trouble.