The ponies run, the girls are young,
You win a while, and then it's done
You live your life as if it's real,
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed,
You lose your grip, and then you slip
And maybe I had miles to drive,
You ditch it all to stay alive,
And sometimes when the night is slow,
We gather up our hearts and go,
Confined to sex, we pressed against
I saw there were no oceans left
I made it to the forward deck.
And then consented to be wrecked,
I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed,
I guess they won't exchange the gifts
And quiet is the thought of you,
And sometimes when the night is slow,
We gather up our hearts and go,