| That could’ve been Abe Lincoln sportin' fifty dollar glasses
|
| Standing at the bar throwing all the girls passes
|
| Standing in the rain at the end of the line
|
| Trying to steal something that’ll never be mine
|
| She could’ve been Jean Harlow eating popcorn at the movies
|
| Still trying to get me to listen to them old Flamin' Groovies
|
| Standing on the corner of Hollywood and Vine
|
| Trying to find something that will never be mine
|
| And you’re fading slow
|
| Like a bloodstain on my sleeve
|
| And I’m learning faster and faster
|
| Just what it takes to leave
|
| What it takes to leave
|
| Well I could’ve been a saint and not a rank backslider
|
| But I was praying in a cell, I was so deep inside of her
|
| Standing on the tracks with a bottle of wine
|
| Trying to find something that will never be mine
|
| But you’re fading slow
|
| Like a bloodstain on my sleeve
|
| And I’m learning faster and faster
|
| Just what it takes to leave
|
| Well it could’ve been a blonde in that long red Cadillac
|
| Driving down the Avenue B, baby
|
| Screaming «Fuck you, daddy» I ain’t ever coming back
|
| Staring out the window like an angel divine
|
| Just another kiss that will never be mine
|
| And you’re fading slow
|
| Like a bloodstain on my sleeve
|
| And I’m learning faster and faster
|
| Just what it takes to leave
|
| What it takes to leave
|
| What it takes to leave
|
| What it takes to leave
|
| Yeah, what it takes to leave |