There is a place where she smiles a lot
In the darkened corner of a parking lot
Before men walked upon the moon
When you played the swinging doors of a lonely saloon
She waits for me there

There is a place where she still goes
In the wintery night where her story flows
Before we all sold our souls for money
And the jokes we told were still considered funny
She waits for me there
In the cold hours of the morning with the wind in her hair

I'm not going out tonight
Until the songs we know are all played inside
And the old cars empty rust
And the cd players start to gather dust
Somewhere only she knows
In the cheap thrills of the morning
With the cold spill of my woes

There is a place where we are together
Where the mountain thyme grows around the heather
Before the drive-thru cinema died
And a truthful word replaced with one big lie
She waits for me there

There is a place where I last saw her
With a hushed out tone and a borrowed fur
Just as the maps were changed
I took a wrong turn looking for her golden plain
She waits for me there
In the cold hours of the morning with the wind in her hair

There is a place, and it's not to be seen
Where the air is young and the water's clean
Where the juggernaut cut the sailor's scar
But on the moons above riding a shooting star
She waits for me there