I wanted to be a skinny little ballerina but I was a voluptuous little Italian girl whose dad had meatballs on the table every night.

Got to fight to control the violent side, every day and night.

Sailing heart-ships through broken harbors out on the waves of the night, still the searcher must ride the dark horse racing alone in his fright.

I see a woman in the night with a baby in her hand, under an old street light near a garbage can.

It's a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.

It seems like every time you come up something happens to bring you back down.