Title Track

All of the stage names evaporate

And it's just a blood-flushed and heart-rushing race

Either to kick off too soon or stick around too late

To be far too dear or too cut-rate

Hold my hand again like at the lake

Hold that mirror, babe, up to my face

Hear the whippoorwill? Am I breathing still?

A Hollywood Babylon bike-a-thon for breakdancers all broken down in their beds

Now intravenously fed from a bag hanging over their heads

Can I put you down for some miles? What do you say?

'Cause don't you know it's going to be a long, long way

But if you've got the cash, I'm ready to bust my ass

So take this thin, broken-down circus clown reject

And give her the name of a queen

Don't I know her from the mezzanine?

Well, she didn't look like no princess to me

But with the proper words bestowed

And with her morning shoot

And her evening clothes

Don't call her a prostitute

She ain't one of those

Just call her a proper little statue come unfroze