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    Pretty girl, wreckin' bar
    Ra, ra, ra, ra, here you are
    Blowing up 'bout twice a night
    Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, here I am

    The Angel's Game, F. Scott Fitzgerald
    The evening news and the Morning Herald
    I know they're not from very far
    But les femmes l-bas, c'est pas de joie

    Where you been? You can't say?
    Hey, hey, hey, hey, yeah, you may
    That might seem a bit below
    No, no, no, no, it's funny though

    Let's go home, I think we oughta
    I know you're your mother's daughter
    Well brought up and royal blue
    And I haven't got the time for you

    Finger pointing, presupposing
    Watch out, man, the doors are closing
    This is what you get when you turn your back
    A clear blue sky turning dirty black

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