This isn’t my heart on a TV show
isn’t my heart crushed on Cannery Row
This isn’t my heart on a Dylan song
isn’t my heart on a chain-linked town
This isn’t my heart at all.

Feeling like junk in the high-blue sky
Margaritas and needles and your sparkling eyes
tell me why I don’t have to die
so you and the girls go trippin’ all night
as I sit back and watch the fight
just another town
just another landscape
just another piece of misery
just another place you want to escape
so go back home and do it up right
dance and drink all through the night
feel the claw of a stranger
touching your face
why does everyone take my place.

Ronald’s in town with his big red shoes
looking at the girl with the big red mouth
he’s got a bullet and a burger
a chomp and a stomp
a trigger finger stirring ketchup and rain
laughing while he tries to swallow the pain
in another city by the sun
in another remnant on a postcard
another tear left to dry
in a dirty motel ashtray
he’s just junk and he’s learned to stay that way.

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