Somewhere out there in the trees
Dry leaves stirred up by the breeze
Sleeping dog picks up the scent
In the the wind he senses

The cracking brance, the swinging gate
The distant thunder on the way
All of this can by explained
As but the trappings of the trouble
All the trouble in our hearts

The house so still, the moon so bright
You awake, I catch your eye
You take my hand to touch your thigh
It's time we took hold of the

Curtains blown in by the wind
Without a word you take me in
Sleeping dog picks up the scent
As we chase away the trouble
All the trouble in our hearts

The night is hot, the dog has gone
Gone out prowling for the dawn
You and I are left alone
Alone and howling at the trouble

Copyright: BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC
Writer(s): RICHARD SHINDELL