there’s gotta be a record of you some place
you gotta be on somebody’s 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 it’s your face I’m looking for
a ladykiller – regulation tattoo
silver spurs on his heels
says – what can I tell you as I’m standing next to you
she threw herself under my wheels
oh it’s a dangerous road
and a hazardous load
and the fireworks over liberty expode in the heat
and it’s your face I’m looking for
a three-chord symphony crashes into space
the moon is hanging upside down
I don’t know why it is I’m still on the case
it’s a ravenous town
and you still refuse to be traced
seems to me such a waste
and every victory has a taste that’s bittersweet
and it’s your face I’m looking for
