Lyrics

Out here in the dark, there's a cold awful laughing Laughing for the length of the ride And if you listen for the trill of the whistle on Tenth Street You'd swear someone's inside Yes, I'm sitting in the back of a Mississippi subway Scratching her name on the seat Yes, a mystery she was, in a manner of speaking But she used me as a figure of speech Oh, when I was twenty and one back in '85 I learned well how to hate And with a textbook and a crowbar I uncoverеd all the secrets Oh, I was not too latе It's funny, all the things that in younger days I hated These days I'm trying to become Standing now in the light of a double-barreled shotgun Trying hard not to look dumb A word [?] now that I consider true Later I'll use to cut her down Now I sit here on the bench in the back by the jukebox Looking for the lost and found So send me a package, rain-soaked or torn apart Ten pounds or just one ounce With a five-dollar bill or a penny or a nickel It's the thought that counts This song is a message to Maisie This song, in New York City