MUSIC FOR SALE

Down on Delancey Street

Got a pocket full of nothing,
and a head full of rain,
the city hums like a broken wire,
calling out my name.

A girl with rust-red lipstick
says she knows a better way,
but every turn’s a corner
where the light just fades away.

Down on Delancey Street,
the night don’t care for dreams,
someone’s laughing through the heat,
someone’s splitting at the seams.

Old man’s preaching freedom,
in a bar with no more booze,
he says “truth is just a weapon,
you can win or you can lose.”

I walk past painted windows,
hear a record start to moan,
every song’s a mirror,
and it cuts me to the bone.

Down on Delancey Street,
the night don’t care for dreams,
someone’s selling what they need,
someone’s bursting at the seams.

And I could take that uptown train,
ride it till I’m clean again,
but the steel keeps singing low,
it won’t let me go.

Down on Delancey Street,
the dawn just looks away,
every saint I meet,
was a sinner yesterday.