The news travels fast in this town
a soap opera in a bar-room to be found
the windy city rumour-mill will generate,
if you have guts to spill
the walls are closing in while listening to me
When enemies start posing as friends
to keep you even closer in the end
the room turns to black
a kitchen knife is twisting in my back
the lights turn back on
there's no trace who's hunting me
within six degrees of separation
the perpetrator emerging from the shadows of the hall
I watch the company I keep, that know nothing at all
within six degrees of separation