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