There's gotta be a record of you some place
You gotta be on somebody's books
The lowdown - a picture of your face
Your injured looks
The sacred and profane
The pleasure and the pain
Somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete
And it's your face I'm looking for on every street
A ladykiller - regulation tattoo
Silver spurs on his heels
Says - what can I tell you as I'm standing next to you
She threw herself under my wheels
Oh it's a dangerous road
And a hazardous load
And the fireworks over liberty expode in the heat
And it's your face I'm looking for on every street
A three-chord symphony crashes into space
The moon is hanging upside down
I don't know why it is I'm still on the case
It's a ravenous town
And you still refuse to be traced
Seems to me such a waste
And every victory has a taste that's bittersweet
And it's your face I'm looking for on every street
Beautiful, sad song--- a detective is on the case of a woman's death/suicide, a woman with injured looks, no name, no fingerprints on file. Who is this woman? What caused her to do this? What was her life like? There has to be a clue to her identity somewhere, a record which will reveal her life history, the good and the bad of it, the mix of pleasure and pain. He looks for her face on every street. The world has gone crazy and he wonders why he's still on the case, and he thinks "what a waste -- why are you refusing to be traced." Every victory of solving other cases is bittersweet. So he is haunted by this woman and still looks for her face on every street.
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