No blankets on this bed,
this is no place to close your eyes or lay down your head,
this is where the jungle starts,
right here,
in the night of broken hearts.

There is no warmth that you will find,
no kindness in the tight blind eyes of those who walk,
no chance to talk,
no glances from the chalk faced men,
just you and when that's not enough,
you shuffle into sleeping sack,
a knife close by,beware, attack is common here,
this jungle's such a queer place,
faces hide away and tomorrow comes, not every day,
only when you wake and you only wake to keep the night at bay.

No blankets on this bed where bodies grow into the snow,
where the winds charge in and begin to howl,there's
always more wolves on the prowl and
in the night of broken hearts
the jungle starts again.