Nothing is secure, the job sucks.
We follow the curves in the road, learning how to whistle.
My woman is a bad girl, sort of, I'm proud of her
Like a bad man with a plan for a bad job. Look at her,
She keeps her head in these situations, she
Knows how to stand on the earth,
She’s standing there with her cocky smile. And you know
There’s nothing like warmly welcomed excitement
In the inside of the inside of your universe.
The street is alive with strategies and stars,
And the crazy guy with the beads strategizes
With a cop at the stoplight outside The Gables. Later
I passed a couple in a Studebaker, her head barely visible
Sun blinding in the pane. Offhand I'd say the layers of misery
In this world are both unfathomable and wrong
But you're here now, so who the hell cares?