Roslyn Square is cold tonight
Empty hallways in a hollow submarine
And you can say a prayer for me tonight
It’s cold as a stone, cold as hell

This beltway goes on for miles and miles around the bend
Through the swamplands of Northern Virginia
Building a wall of freedom across the way
To the midplains to the coast

But way down here, the sun doesn’t shine
No voice can be heard

When the fever runs high and the water runs dry
I will run to you, my wishing well
And when the bitterness is through
Will these city streets remind me of you, my wishing well
And I wish you well

And I got a concert hall of minstrels Playing songs every night
And I got a pocket full of cigarettesTo help me feel alive
And I got backpack on my shoulder
In this place that I call home
And a station full of refugees
And friends that come and go
Down on Roslyn Square…