Out past the trees there is nothing to burn 
Just an empty gas station, left to me in a will 
Just a plate of bad habits and plenty of salt for the wounds 
Just a plate of bone china and plenty of salt for the wounds 
At night there are voices 
By the old station house 
They come from an angel with a kerosene tongue 
She say's: 'there is trouble, a trouble that no one can name' 
She say's: 'help is too late when the memory doesn't remain' 

Blown down the wind 
Let the trouble begin 
Get blown away 
Never look back again 

Down on the troubled wind 
Down on the troubled wind 

You can come on the nightbus and spend a few days 
You can set some explosions and fall asleep in this bed 
But I know that you won't stay with hundreds of miles to go 
Trouble has no friends when trouble needs some place to go 

Blown down the wind 
Let the trouble begin