| Walking by the concourse | |
| Lit by the glow of a streetlight | |
| Held up by hallowed ground | |
| And cigarettes flicking all around | |
| In your black eyes | |
| I hoped that I would find | |
| That you were hiding | |
| You were hiding something | |
| Walked into the concourse | |
| At the end of the tunnel were my dim lit saviors | |
| All raucous and full of glam | |
| But not the kind that I left uptown | |
| And you looked dark and pensive | |
| As your heels hit the floor to the blaring Division | |
| But you didn't have much to say | |
| But you were beautiful anyway | |
| In your black eyes | |
| I hoped that I would find | |
| That you were hiding | |
| Hiding something | |
| But in your black eyes | |
| Lit by the glow of a streetlight | |
| You were hiding | |
| You were hiding something | |
| Deep inside the concourse | |
| I learned of the fuel of the celebration | |
| Seemed the saviors were down with it | |
| Even you had your nose in it | |
| Deep inside the concourse | |
| I longed for a difference in the conversation | |
| But underneath the swinging model hair | |
| Were the words I hear everywhere | |
| In your black eyes | |
| I hoped you were hiding | |
| In your black eyes you were hiding | |
| You were hiding nothing at all | |
| Don't want to sing it now | |
| Don't want to shake, shake, shake |
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