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,
