There's a long-distance train rolling through the rain, tears on the letter I write. There's a woman I long to touch and I'm missing her so much but she's drifting like a satellite. There's a neon light ablaze in this green smoky haze, laughter down on Elizabeth Street And a lonesome bell tone in that valley of stone where she bathed in a stream of pure heat. Her father would emphasize you got to be more than street-wise There's a baby in the arms of a woman in a rage And a longtime golden-haired stripper onstage And she winds back the clock and she turns back the page Of a book that nobody can write. Oh, where are you tonight? The truth was obscure, too profound and too pure,