“Backstreets” by Bruce Springsteen

“Blame it on the lies that killed us. Blame it on the truth that ran us down. You can blame it all on me Terry. It don’t matter to me now.”

One soft infested summer
Me and Terry became friends
Trying in vain to breathe
The fire we was born in
Catching rides to the outskirts
Tying faith between our teeth
Sleeping in that old abandoned beach house
Getting wasted in the heat

And hiding on the backstreets
Hiding on the backstreets
With a love so hard and filled with defeat
Running for our lives at night on them backstreets

Endless juke joints and Valentino drag
Where dancers scraped the tears
Up off the streets dressed down in rags
Running into the darkness
Some hurt bad some really dying

When the breakdown hit at midnight
There was nothing left to say
But I hated him
And I hated you when you went away

Now laying here in the dark
You’re like an angel on my chest
Just another tramp of hearts
Crying tears of faithlessness

Hiding on the backstreets

“Terry was a dude”: A dialogue on “Backstreets” and “Governor Chris Christie’s Fort Lee New Jersey Traffic Jam”


I'm routinely overestimated.

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