In this town, when it rainsnThere are years that wash off towers and the trains.nAnd the splashing sounds like laughingnAs it rolls and it slides off the ceilings and thenSidesnOf the towers and the trains.nnThere's a blacklist. A deep, black malice.nScars so deep, they're taught to children, nThat live with people 'till the grave.nFolks can't shake 'em, twist or break 'em.nThey find themselves condemned to burnout.nThey rust and crack, and then they turn out likenThe towers and the trains.nnNothing beats them downtown streets, nThey can't keep a dream alive.nThe women talking, men hard-rocking.nHow will I survive?nnWe got issues from all the misuse.nnWe got wasted youth and missing persons who've gotnNothing left to do but age.nThey sit on their porches, lit by torches, nAnd if you listen in the stillness, you?ll hear themnSinging about their illness:nThe towers and the trains.nnNothing beats them downtown streets, nThey can't keep a dream alive.nThe women talking, men hard-rocking.nHow will I survive?nnIn my town, when it rains. There are years that washnOff towers and the trains.nAnd the splashing sounds like laughingnAs it rolls and it slides off the ceilings and thenSidesnOf the towers and the trains.nnOff the towers and the trains?