Bruce Springsteen Lyrics

Bruce Springsteen

Spirit in the Night

The night was dark. The moon was young.
And leaves came tumbling down.
Crazy Janey and her mission man were back in the alley trading hands.
Along came Wild Billy with his friend G-man, all duded up for Saturday night.
Well Billy slammed on his coaster brakes and said,
"Anybody wanna go on up to Greasy Lake?
It's about a mile down on the dark side
of route eighty-eight. I got a bottle of Rosé so let's try it.
We'll pick up Hazy Davy and Killer Joe and I'll take you all out
to where the gypsy angels go.
They're built like light, and they dance
like spirits in the night.
Oh, you don't know what they can do to you, spirits in the night.
Stand right up now and let them shoot through you."
Well now Wild young Billy was a crazy cat,
and he shook some dust out of his coonskin cap.
He said, "Trust some of this; it'll show you where you're at,
or at least it'll help you really feel it."
By the time we made it up to Greasy Lake, I had my head out the window
and Janey's fingers were in the cake.
I think I really dug her `cause I was too loose to fake.
I said, "I'm hurt." She said, "Honey, let me heal it."
And we danced all night to a soul fairy band,
and she kissed me just right, like only a lonely angel can.
She felt so nice, just as soft as a spirit in the night.
Janey don't know what she do to you.
Stand right up and let her shoot through me.
Now the night was bright and the stars threw light
on Billy and Davy dancing in the moonlight.
They were down near the water in a stone mud fight.
Killer Joe gone passed out on the lawn.
Well now, Hazy Davy got really hurt; he ran into the lake
in just his socks and a shirt.
Me and Crazy Janey was making love in the dirt,
singing our birthday songs.
Janey said it was time to go, so we closed our eyes
and said goodbye to gypsy angel row. Felt so right.
Together we moved like spirits in the night, all night.
Baby, don't know what they can do to you.
Stand right up and let it shoot right through you.

4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

Sandy, the fireworks are hailing over Little Eden tonight,
forcing a light into all those stoned-out faces
left stranded on this Fourth of July.
Down town the circuit's full with switchblade lovers
so fast so shiny so sharp.
And the wizards play down on Pinball Way, on the boardwalk way past dark,
and the boys from the casino dance
with their shirts open
like Latin lovers
along the shore, chasing all them silly New York girls.
Sandy, the aurora is rising behind us.
The pier lights our carnival life forever.
Love me tonight, for I may never see you again.
Now the greasers tramp the streets, or get busted for trying to sleep
on the beach all night.
Them boys in their spiked high heels, ah, Sandy,
their skins are so white.
And me, I just got tired of hanging
in them dusty arcades, banging them pleasure machines,
chasing the factory girls underneath the boardwalk,
where they promise to unsnap their jeans.
And you know that tilt-a-whirl down on the south beach drag,
I got on it last night and my shirt got caught,
and that Joey kept me spinning—I didn't think I'd ever get off.
Oh Sandy, the aurora is rising behind us.
The pier lights our carnival life on the water.
Running down the beach at night with my boss's daughter;
well he ain't my boss no more, Sandy.
Sandy, the angels have lost our desire for us.
I spoke to them just last night, and they said
they won't set themselves on fire for us anymore.
Every summer when the weather gets hot, they ride that road down from heaven,
on their Harleys they come and they go.
And you can see them dressed like stars, in all the cheap little seashore bars,
parked, making love with their babies, out on the Kokomo.
Well the cops finally busted Madame Marie
for telling fortunes better than they do.
This boardwalk life for me is through.
You know you ought to quit this scene too.
Sandy the aurora's rising behind us, the pier lights our carnival life forever.
Oh love me tonight, and I promise I'll love you forever.

Lost in the Flood

The ragamuffin Gunner is returning home like a hungry runaway.
He walks through town all alone.
"He must be from the fort," he hears the high school girls say.
His countryside's burning with wolfman fairies dressed in drag for homicide.
The hit and run plead sanctuary, beneath a holy stone they hide.
They're breaking beams and crosses with a spastic's reelin' perfection.
Nuns run bald through Vatican halls, pregnant, pleading immaculate conception.
And everybody's wrecked on Main Street from drinking unholy blood.
Sticker smiles sweet as Gunner breathes deep, his ankles caked in mud.
And I said, "Hey Gunner man, that's quicksand, that's quicksand, that ain't mud.
Have you thrown your senses to the war or did you lose them in the flood?"
That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced,
Races Sundays in Jersey in a Chevy, stock super eight. He rides `er low on the hip.
On the side he's got Bound For Glory in red, white and blue flash paint.
He leans on the hood telling racing stories; the kids call him Jimmy The Saint.
Well the blaze and noise boy, he's gunning that bitch loaded to blasting point.
He rides head first into a hurricane and disappears into a point.
And there's nothing left but some blood where the body fell.
That is, nothing left that you could sell.
Just junk all across the horizon, a real highwayman's farewell.
And he said, "Hey kid, you think that's oil? Man, that ain't oil—that's blood."
I wonder what he was thinking when he hit that storm,
Or was he just lost in the flood?
Eighth Avenue sailors in satin shirts whisper in the air.
Some storefront incarnation of Maria, she's puttin' on me the stare.
And Bronx's best apostle stands with his hand on his own hardware.
Everything stops, you hear five quick shots; the cops come up for air,
And now the whiz-bang gang from uptown, they're shootin' up the street.
And that cat from the Bronx starts letting loose but he gets blown right off his feet.
And some kid comes blasting round the corner but a cop puts him right away.
He lays on the street, holding his leg, screaming something in Spanish,
Still breathing when I walked away.
And somebody said, "Hey man did you see that?
His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud."
I wonder what the dude was sayin' or was he just lost in the flood?
Hey man, did you see that, those poor cats are sure messed up.
I wonder what they were gettin' into, or were they just lost in the flood?

Incident on 57th Street

Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick,
But dressed just like dynamite.
He tried selling his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street,
But they sighed, "Johnny, it falls apart so easy
and you know hearts these days are cheap."
And the pimps swung their axes and said, "Johnny you're a cheater."
Well the pimps swung their axes and said, "Johnny you're a liar."
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice, said: "Johnny don't cry."
Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name.
I want to drive you down to the other side of town
where paradise ain't so crowded.
There'll be action goin' down on Shanty Lane tonight.
All them golden-heeled fairies in a real bitch fight,
Pull .38s and kiss the girls good night.
Oh good night, it's alright Jane.
Now let them black boys in to light the soul flame.
We may find it out on the street tonight baby,
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe.
Well, like a cool Romeo he made his moves, oh she looked so fine.
Like a late Juliet she knew he'd never be true,
but then she really didn't mind
Upstairs, a band was playing, the singer was singing something
about going home.
She whispered, "Spanish Johnny, you can leave me tonight,
but just don't leave me alone"
And Johnny cried, "Puerto Rican Jane, word is down
the cops have found the vein."
Oh them barefoot boys left their homes for the woods .
Them little barefoot street boys, they say home ain't no good.
They left the corners, threw away all their switchblade knives
and kissed each other good-bye.
Johnny was sitting on the fire escape,
watching the kids playing down the street.
He called down, "Hey little heroes, summer's long,
but I guess it ain't very sweet around here anymore."
Janey sleeps in sheets damp with sweat,
Johnny sits up alone and watches her dream on, dream on.
And the sister prays for lost souls,
then breaks down in the chapel, after everyone's gone.
Jane moves over to share her pillow,
but opens her eyes to see Johnny, up and putting his clothes on.
She says, "Those romantic young boys,
all they ever want to do is fight."
Those romantic young boys, they're callin' through the window:
"Hey Spanish Johnny, you want to make a little easy money tonight?"
And Johnny whispers: "Good night, it's all right Jane."
I'll meet you tomorrow night on Lover's Lane.
We may find it out on the street tonight,
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe."

Backstreets

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.
With a love so hard and filled with defeat,
Running for our lives at night on them backstreets.
Slow dancing in the dark on the beach at Stockton's Wing,
Where desperate lovers park, we sat with the last of the Duke Street Kings,
Huddled in our cars waiting for the bells that ring
In the deep heart of the night, to set us loose from everything—
To go running on the backstreets.
We swore we'd live forever on the backstreets; we take it together.
Endless juke joints and Valentino drag where dancers scraped the tears
Up off the street dressed down in rags, running into the darkness.
Some hurt bad, some really dying at night. Sometimes it seemed
You could hear the whole damn city crying.
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.
When the breakdown hit at midnight, there was nothing left to say,
but I hated him, and I hated you when you went away.
Laying here in the dark, you're like an angel on my chest,
Just another tramp of hearts crying tears of faithlessness.
Remember all the movies, Terry, we'd go see,
Trying to learn how to walk like heroes we thought we had to be.
And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest,
Stranded in the park and forced to confess—
To hiding on the backstreets.
We swore forever, friends on the backstreets until the end.

Jungleland

The rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night,
And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine over the Jersey state line.
Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge,
Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain.
The Rat pulls into town, rolls up his pants;
Together they take a stab at romance
and disappear down Flamingo Lane.
Well, the Maximum Lawman run down Flamingo, chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl.
And the kids round here look just like shadows: always quiet, holding hands.
From the churches to the jails tonight, all is silence in the world,
As we take our stand down in Jungleland.
The midnight gang's assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night.
They'll meet beneath that giant Exxon sign
that brings this fair city light.
Man, there's an opera out on the Turnpike.
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley,
Until the local cops, Cherry Tops, rip this holy night.

The street's alive as secret debts are paid,
Contacts made, they vanish unseen.
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades, hustling for the record machine.
The hungry and the hunted explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other
Out in the street, down in Jungleland.
In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage.
Inside the backstreet, girls are dancing to the records that the D.J. plays.
Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners,
Desperate as the night moves on, just a look and a whisper,
and they're gone.
Beneath the city two hearts beat.
Soul engines running through a night so tender, in a bedroom locked
In whispers of soft refusal. And then surrender in the tunnels uptown—
The Rat's own dream guns him down, as shots echo down them hallways in the night.
No one watches when the ambulance pulls away,
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light.
Outside, the street's on fire in a real death waltz
Between what's flesh and what's fantasy.
And the poets down here don't write nothing at all;
they just stand back and let it all be.
And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment,
And try to make an honest stand.
But they wind up wounded, not even dead,
tonight in Jungleland.

Frankie

Dark weekends in the sun out on Chelsea Road,
Descending the stairs, Frankie, my one,
Check your makeup in the mirror; c'mon babe, let's go.
We'll dance around this dirty town 'til the night is all done.
Let all the finer things sleep alone tonight.
Let all the minor kings lose their thrones tonight.
Don't worry about us, baby, we'll be alright.
Well everybody's dying, this town's closing down.
They're all sitting down at the courthouse, waiting for them to take the flag down.
I see strange flashes in the sky up above;
Gonna spend the night at the drive-in with the one that I love.
At dusk the stars all appear on the screen,
Yeah, just like they do each night in my dreams.
But tonight's no dream, Frankie, I can feel myself too.
Well now and forever my love is for you.
Walk softly tonight little stranger.
Yeah, into these shadows we're passing through.
Talk softly tonight, little angel;
You make all my dream worlds come true.
Well lately I've been standing out in the freezing rain,
Readin' them want ads out on Chelsea Road.
I'm winging down the street in search of new games,
Hustling through these nightlights' diamond glow.
Well, Frankie, I don't know what I'm gonna find;
Maybe nothing at all, maybe a world I can call mine,
Shining like these streetlights down here on the strand,
Bright as the rain in the palm of your hand.
Walk softly tonight, little stranger,
Into the shadows where lovers go.
Talk softly to me, little angel,
Whisper your secrets so soft and low.