Bruce Springsteen

I slipped on her shoe, she was a perfect size seven
I said "there's no smokin' in the store ma'am"
She crossed her legs and then
We made some small talk, that's where it should have stopped
She slipped me a number, I put it in my pocket
My hand slipped up her skirt, everything slipped my mind
In that little roadhouse on highway 29

It was a small town bank, it was a mess
Well I had a gun, you know the rest
Money on the floorboards, shirt was covered in blood and she was cryin'
Her and me we headed south on highway 29

In a little desert motel, the air was hot and clean
l slept the sleep of the dead, I didn't dream
I woke in the morning, washed my face in the sink
We headed into the Sierra Madres 'cross the borderline
The winter sun, shot through the black trees
I told myself it was all something in her
But as we drove I knew it was something in me
Something had been comin' for a long long time
And something that was here with me now on highway 29

The road was filled with broken glass and gasoline
She wasn't sayin' nothin', it was just a dream*
Wind come silent through the windshield
All I could see was snow and sky and pines
I closed my eyes and I was runnin'
And I was runnin' then I was flyin