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She said she came from PortlandWhere the ashen skies had bled an oceanLeft her like the local boys, barren of emotionAs we talked we watched the raindropsRunning down the windowLaundromat in Darlinghurst, Like a fish shop from the past.And her mother called her MaryAfter Mary Magdalene, To deny her beautyWould have been the greatest sinIt was a profile in the neon and a Kings Cross Doorway leanTo half an hour of tending someone else's tangled dream.There were lines of sailors, lines of speedLines upon the Footpath where she staredWhen things were quiet, as night deferred to dawn.And the coke cups played red roverIn the breeze that scuttled through the streetsTaxies left for greener fieldsWhile Sydney stretched and yawnedAnd her mother called her MaryAfter Mary Magdalene, There were virgins in the morning, Letras de cancionesShe had sisters in the pain; And the wives would clutch their husbandsPerhaps they shared the shame, 'Cause working streets and wedding rings are sometimes much the same.She tap-danced with the buskersNear the subway shouting blues songsThey remembered from their teenage years of dreamtime radio.And the years withdrew behind her eyesTo let the little girl look outIn simple childish innocenceAt drawings in the sand.And her mother called her MaryAfter Mary Magdalene, She had long dark hair and massage oilAnd a key to let you in; And the lines upon her face were maps of roads she'd travelled, Lined with people throwing stones because they didn't understand, That a half an hour of tenderness (perhaps they shared the same)'Cause working streets and wedding rings are sometimes much the same. From Letras Mania