At a bus stop in a border town This lovelorn refugee Slowly smokes a cigarette And trembles, ill at ease She should have been here hours ago I watch the eastward road But the sun tracks fast across the sky And still nobody shows And then I'm torn away at last The doors slam hard and fast Watch the empty houses Press my nose against the glass I guess I'll go home then It's time to go home again I'll try to go home again At a wooden house on Fleet Street I took my final vows Put a pen to paper then Described what I had found But words all lose their meaning when You're lost alone in love And whatever mail I sent that day Got lost and wasn't enough So I read a guide to San Francisco In a boat out far from shore Thought of all the love I'd make If I ever got back to port Now Coney Island's emptied out That cold November shore Between the freak-show carousels Dance the ballerina ghosts I dance the ghost dance for my love I paint my forehead blue Raise my hands towards paradise But my directions get confused And I know I marked myself a man With war paint on my cheeks But there's no strength left in my hands Can hardly even speak