When you're lost in the rain in Juarez,
And it's Eastertime too,
And your gravity fails,
And negativity don't pull you through,
Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue.
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outa you.

Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot.
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot.
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot.
And my best friend, my doctor,
Won't even say what it is I've got.

Sweet Melinda,
The peasants call her the goddess of gloom.
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room.
And you're so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon.
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon.

Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame.
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim.
If you're lookin' to get silly
You better go back to from where you came.
Because the cops don't need you
And man they expect the same.

Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast,
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post.
And picking up Angel who
Just arrived here from the coast.
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost.

[Instrumental/Harmonica Break]

I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff.
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough.
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to bluff.
I'm going back to New York City;
I do believe I've had enough.

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