A run-down, suburban, smoky, late-night pub
Over the boulevard but inside the town
Dirty tables, strange faces round here
Like in the Wild West, theyre swigging cheap beer
Taxi drivers are cruising bout the streets
Whores on the sidewalk are showing their feet
Poor Joes in the trash with hungry eyes
In the House of Lords he may spend the night
Cold is the reality
Cops show up, asking for everyones IDs
Theres surely something wrong, everything stinks
There are wild tattoos on perfect muscles
Techno is rumbling, short street-hassles
Darkness in the suburb
Cold is the reality
Darkness in the suburb
No justice, no peace
Underground creatures slowly crawling out
Hunting for their prey, ready for the fight
A small child is waiting, next to the bar
For his daddy to come and staring at a star
Darkness in the suburb
Cold is the reality
Darkness in the suburb
No justice, no peace