Well, I've sung out one more evening, and I'm wrung out, feeling beat. 

I walk on out the door once more to an empty city street. 

A Good guitar will serve you well when you're living in the lights but it's never going to warm you in the middle of the night. And so I come and go with her in whispers. 

Each and every time she says she dies. When she is reborn again 

I kiss her. 

And the baby never cries. She works in the daytime, she leave her baby with a friend. 

I sing every evening, 

I only see her now and then. 

I come to her at midnight, when 'bout half the world's asleep, and she puts me back together, in the hours before I leave. Her apartment is down on Perry Street, there's a tree in her backyard. Her old man had left her, he just took off for the coast, and I caught her on the rebound when I needed her the most.