Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money in my Hand - текст песни
Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money in my Hand
Jan lays down and wrestles in her sleep
Moonlight spills on comic books
And superstars in magazines
An old friend calls and tells us where to meet
Her plane takes off from Baltimore
And touches down on Bourbon Street
We sit outside and argue all night long
About a god we've never seen
But never fails to side with me
Sunday comes and all the papers say
Ma Theresa's joined the mob
And happy with her full time job
Am I alive or thoughts that drift away?
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