She says she's feeling woozy and she opens her eyes nAnd tells me my stubble is scratching her thighsnAnd somebody's knocking at the cubicle door, nAh, I used to regret stuff but I don�t anymore nnAnd there's kickass Jesus onstage nAnd his drummer plays in a cage nAnd there's heartbreak in the horns nAnd fresh blood on the crown of thorns nAnd they crank it up a gear nAnd Jenny's sucking on another beernIs this man hassling you, honey pie? nAsks some tall white rasta guynnBaby, save me, I said, grabbing her wrist nLike I didn't know salvation don't really existnAnd I pull her towards me, bury my face in her hairnBut she heads for the back, up by the sound-desk somewherennThe gig's all over in a feedback squall nAnd I want to hold my woman, that's all,nBut she pulls away from my hand nShe's going backstage to meet the bandnAnd there's a party at a beach-house somewhere,nAll that downtown crowd'll be there,nSo I catch the train home alone, nBlub my goodbyes to her answerphone