on every street

theres gotta be a record of you some place

you gotta be on somebodys books

the lowdown a picture of your face

your injured looks

the sacred and profane

the pleasure and the pain

somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete

and its your face im looking for



a ladykiller



  regulation tattoo

silver spurs on his heels says

 what can i tell you as im standing next to you

she threw herself under my wheels

oh its a dangerous road

and a hazardous load

and the fireworks over liberty expode in the heat

and its your face im looking for



a three-chord symphony crashes into space

the moon is hanging upside down

i dont know why it is im still on the case

its a ravenous town

and you still refuse to be traced

seems to me such a waste

and every victory has a taste thats bittersweet

and its your face im looking for



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