On a Sunday morning sidewalk.

Wishing Lord that I was stoned.

Cause there’s something about a Sunday.

That makes the body feel alone.

There ain’t nothing short of dying.

Half as lonely as the sound.

On the sleeping city sidewalks.

Sunday morning coming down.

I took a chance.

The way we do.

And tested faith.

And shades of blue.

We walk this walk

Now me and you.

Oh Child of mine.

And that faith grew.

He’s a poet, he’s a picker. He’s a prophet, he’s a pusher.

He’s a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he’s stoned.

He’s a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction.

Taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home.

I like it here.

The baths are warm.

I have survived.

The I of storm.

There is a peace.

A quiet pause.

You had to leave.

The way it was.

The danger felt.

Well it was old.

A kind of curse.

Where blood is cold.

I like it here.

The baths are warm.

Spirits smiled.

Have taken form.

I’m traveling light.

It’s au revoir.

My once so bright.

Fallen star.

I’m running late.

They’ll close the bar.

I used to play.

One mean guitar.

I guess I’m just

Somebody who.

Has given up.

On me and you.

I’m not alone.

I’ve met a few.

Traveling light like

We need to do.

If I seemed to be confused. I didn’t mean to be with you.

When you said I scared you, well I guess you scared me too.

But if it’s love you’re looking for, I guess I can give little more.

And if you’re somewhere drunk and passed out on the floor.

Joey, I’m not angry anymore.

There’s a green plaid jacket on the back of a chair.

It’s like a moment frozen forever there.

Mom and Dad had a lot of big plans for their little man.

So proud.

Mama’s gone crazy cause her baby’s shot down.

By a teenage car chase war out of bounds.

It was the wrong place, wrong time, wrong end of a gun.

I’ve been strolling in the gardens.

Where luxury has her way.

I have been granted life’s great pardons.

Where time and money are at play.

Fortune shines her glories.

I don’t know why or how.

There have been other stores.

But History has them now.

People are strange.

When you’re a Stanger.

Faces look ugly.

When you’re alone.

Women seem wicked.

When you’re unwanted.

Streets are uneven.

When you’re down.

When you’re strange.

Faces come out of the rain.

When you’re strange.

No one remembers your name.

Well I just got into town about an hour ago. Took a look around see which way the wind blow. Where the little girls in their Hollywood Bungalows.

Are you just a lucky lady in the city of night?

Or just another lost angel? City of night…

I see your hair is burnin.

Hills are on fire.

If they say I never loved you.

Then you know they are a liar.

Drivin down your freeways.

Midnight city roam.

Cops in cars, topless bars

Never saw a woman so alone.

So alone.