Well, I've sung out one more evening,

and I'm wrung out, feeling beat.

I walk on out the door once more

to an empty city street.

A Good guitar will serve you well

when you're living in the lights

but it's never going to warm you

in the middle of the night.

And so I come and go with her in whispers.

Each and every time she says she dies.

When she is reborn again

I kiss her.

And the baby never cries.

She works in the daytime,

she leave her baby with a friend.

I sing every evening,

I only see her now and then.

I come to her at midnight,

when 'bout half the world's asleep,

and she puts me back together,

in the hours before I leave.

Her apartment is down on Perry Street,

there's a tree in her backyard.

Her old man had left her,

he just took off for the coast,

and I caught her on the rebound

when I needed her the most.