The moon is hanging
in the purple sky.
The baby's sleeping
while its mother sighs.
Talking about the rich folks:
rich folks have the same jokes
and they park in basic places.
The priest is preaching
from a shallow grave.
He counts his money
then he paints you saved.
Talking to the young folks:
young folks share the same jokes
but they'd meet in older places.

Born in the troubled city
in rock and roll USA
in the shadow of the tallest building,
I vowed I would break away.
Listened to the Sunday actors
but all they would ever say:
That you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.
No you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.

Woman, please be gone.
You've stayed here much too long.
Don't you wish that you could cry?
Don't you wish I would die?
Seamy seesaw kids.
Child-women on the skids.
The dust will choke you blind.
The lust will choke your mind.
I kiss the floor, one kick, no more.
The pig and hose have set me free.
I've tasted Hate Street's hanging tree.
I've tasted Hate Street's hanging tree.

And you measure for wealth by the things you can hold
and you measure for love by the sweet things you're told
and you live in the past of a dream that you're in
and your selfishness is your cardinal sin.
And you want to be held with highest regard.
It delights you so much
if he's trying so hard.
And you're trying to conceal your ordinary way
with a smile or a shrug
or some stolen cliché.
But don't you understand?
And don't you look about?
I'm trying to take nothing from you
so why should you act so put out, for me?

My pocket don't drive me fast,
my mother treats me slow,
my statue's got a concrete heart
but you're the coldest bitch I know.
In the factory that you call your mind:
graveyard thoughts of stone.
A master thief, I wouldn't enter there,
you've nothing I would care to own (so help me).

And I'll forget about the girl that said no.
Then I'll tell who I want where to go.
And I'll forget about your lies and deceit
and your attempts to be so discreet.
Maybe today, yeah,
I'll slip away.
And you can keep your symbols of success.
Then I'll pursue my own happiness.
And you can keep your clocks and routines.
Then I'll go mend all my shattered dreams.
Maybe today, yeah,
I'll slip away.

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Going down a dirty inner city side road,
I plotted.
Madness passed me by, she smiled Hi.
I nodded.
Looked up as the sky began to cry;
she shot it.
Met a girl from Dearborn early six o'clock this morn:
a cold fact.
Asked about her bag. "Suburbia's such a drag,
won't go back,
'cause Papa don't allow no new ideas here,
and now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear."

The generals hate holidays.
Others shoot up to chase the sun blues away.
Another store front church is open.
Sea of neon lights. A boxer, his shadow fights.
Soldier tired and sailor broken.
Winter's asleep at my window.
Cold wind waits at my door.
She asks me up to her place
but I won't be down anymore.

Don't sit and wait.
Don't sit and dream.
Put on a smile,
go find a scene.
I'm sure you'd meet
someone who would really love you.
Don't sit and hope.
Don't sit and pine.
If you've been hurt
make up your mind.
I'm sure you'd find
someone who would really love you.

I wonder how many times you've been had.
And I wonder how many plans have gone bad.
I wonder how many times you had sex?
And I wonder do you know who'll be next?
I wonder. I wonder. Wonder, I do.
I wonder about the love you can't find.
And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine.
I wonder how much going have you got?
And I wonder about your friends that are not.
I wonder. I wonder. Wonder I do.

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But thanks for your time.
Then you can thank me for mine.
And after that's said,
forget it.
Don't be inane,
there's no one to blame:
no reason why
you should stay here
and lie to me.
Don't say any more,
just walk out the door,
I'll get along fine.
You'll see.

'Cause I lost my job two weeks before Christmas.
And I talked to Jesus at the sewer
and the Pope said it was none of his God-damned business.
While the rain drank champagne,
my Estonian archangel came and got me wasted.
'Cause the sweetest kiss I ever got is the one I've never tasted.
Oh, but they'll take their bonus pay to Molly McDonald.
Neon lady, beauty is that which obeys, is bought or borrowed.

I've played every kind of gig there is to play now.
I've played faggot bars, hooker bars, motor cycle funerals,
in opera houses, concert halls, halfway houses.
Well, I found that in all these places that I've played
all the people that I've played for are the same people.
So if you'll listen, maybe you'll see someone you know in this song.
A most disgusting song.