There's a girl, asleep in her work clothes
there's the dream of a grave
dusty birds, a loft in a twister
and the money, she'll never have
Cigarette still burns in her fingers
and her TV's alive
there's broken homes, and weight loss, and lawyers
and the money she'll never have
Deliver the stars from the ceiling
the nights from her head
Deliver the stars from the ceiling
and the money she'll never have
Lately sleep, it goes like a weekend
full of plans never saved
the sun deflates behind the Sangre de Cristo
and the money she'll never have
Deliver the stars from the ceiling
the nights from her head
Deliver the stars from the ceiling
and the money she'll never have