Savage night on a misty island. Lights wink out in the canyon walls.
Two old boys in a stolen racer. Black rubber contrails
In the unwashed halls
All of roads out of here, seem to lead right back to the
Rock Island

I've gone back to Paris, London and even riding on a
Jumbo to Bombay
The long haul back holds faint attraction, but the people
Here know they're O.K.
See the girl following the red balloon: walking all alone
On her Rock Island

Doesn't everyone have their own Rock Island? They own little
Patch of sand?
Where the slow waves crawl and your angels fall and you find
You can hardly stand
And just as you're drowning, well, the tide goes down.
And you're back on your Rock Island

Hey there, girlie with with the torn dress, shaking: who was it
Touched you? Who was it ruined your day?
Whose footprint calling card? And what they want, stepping
On your beach anyway?
I'll be your life raft out of here, but you'd only drift right
Back to your Rock Island

Hey, boy, with the personal stereo: nothing 'tween the ears
But that hard rock sound.
Playing to your empty room, empty guitar tune. No use waiting
For that C.B.S. to come around
'Cos all roads out of here, seem to lead right back to your
Rock Island.