| The street boys are waiting for the late late show
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| Their eyes are shifty and their pants are low
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| A telephone rings in a room upstairs
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| The veteran sings to the road below
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| Mona leans against a lamppost at the corner of the street
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| The afternoon papers blow around her feet
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| She hooks her thumb beneath the strap of her bag
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| Her cigarette gleams as she takes another drag
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| The city mission stands in the late night rain
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| The big drops streak the dirty windowpane
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| The old lay preacher steps out from a one way lane
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| The lady says «Coffee!» |
| and the man says «yes»
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| Mona leans against the counter as she wipes her dress
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| Her legs hold promise and her eyes are wide
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| The preacher slides in from the night outside
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| The Laminex tables line along the wall
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| Mona wanders through the cafe to the window stall
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| The preacher asks softly for the time of day
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| Then heads towards the mission with his take-away
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| His eyes rake Mona as he jerks the door
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| The outside rain becomes an inside roar
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| Mona rests her toes on the late night cafe floor
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| Mona and the preacher
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| Mona and the preacher
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| Mona and the preacher
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| Mona and the preacher
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| The city mission stands in the late night rain
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| The big drops streak the dirty windowpane
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| The old lay preacher leaps a swollen drain
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| Now some like to dance in the twilight zone
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| Seekin' after Mona when they’re all alone
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| Some seek the preacher, their hearts to console
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| 'Cause she heals the body, but he heals the soul |