When you're lost in the rain in Juarez and it's Easter-time too
And your gravity fails and negativity don't pull you through,
Don't put on any airs when you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue,
They got some hungry women there and they really make a mess outta you.
Now, if you see Saint Annie, please tell her "Thanks a lot",
I cannot move, my fingers are all in a knot.
I don't have the strength to get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor, won't even say what it is I've got.
Sweet Melinda, the peasants call her the "Goddess of Gloom",
She speaks good English and she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind and careful not to go to her too soon
As she takes your voice and leaves you howling at the moon.
Up on Housing Project Hill it's either fortune or fame,
You must pick one or the other though neither of them are to be what they claim.
If you're looking to get silly, you better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you and, man, they expect the same.
Now, all the authorities, they just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms into leaving his post
And picking up Angel, who just arrived here from the coast,
Who looked so fine at first, but left looking just like a ghost.
I started out on burgundy, but soon hit the harder stuff,
Everybody said they'd stand behind me when the game got rough,
But the joke was on me, there was nobody even there to bluff.
I'm going back to New York City, I do believe I've had enough.