The twenty in her pocket Was burniung a hole right through her leg I wish i could stop her But I never knew quite what to say. The doors in this place seem To shut themselves these days. I let you go, I am to blame. And the rhythms in her head They never seem to fade. Colored by the streets She knows so well. And the twenty in her pocket Is burning a hole right through the ground. I guess we won't be seeing you around anymore. So while you wait for the rush and light I will wait for you one more night.