August is hanging this town out to dry.
I bet we'll be the last ones to leave town.
Someone's got to reach
and I guess that someone is me,
but I bet you'll be the last star shot down.
So let's be off tonight
while we're awake enough to drive,
and by this time tomorrow we'll be alive.

And you're reading me lines from a song you wrote,
it was something 'bout a dragon of a girl you knew
that you lost on this road to hell with me.

Call it fate or bad luck.
Nothing mystifies us.
I bet you'll be the last star shot down.

Summer's dropping hints while my heart's working inch
walks the dust of mid-day to its grave.
Braver men than me walk the lines of sleep,
know the charm where forever and fourth street meet,
sing the praise of this road to hell with me.

Call it fate or bad luck.
Nothing mystifies us.
I bet you'll be the last star shot down...

City streets and hearts make the same sound.