She don't think straight. She's got such a dirty mind, and it never ever stops. Rolling around in hotel room beds on the Lower East Side. She says the right things, she acts the wrong way. Hands into her skin like a smoking gun underneath me. I pull myself away, take a break on the balcony. Cigarettes in between fingers with chipped black polish. Another night slipped away into the darkness, the hours melt. I feel myself in you.
You don't taste like her, you never will. And we don't read the papers and we don't read the news. We run away to Mexico, we slip underwater. We can't escape ourselves, we can't escape all the hours left in the day.
Some things will never be different.
Cause you know I'm on fire when you call.