She came from the south, straight into my kitchen
Head fucked and filled with doubt
And without a point of direction
She felt sad and I was counting the beats of my heart
One, two three, four...
Untill it broke
She said its like a tropic of cancer
And I'm pretty sure she stole it from a Henry Miller novel
A book he wrote in France?
In Paris in the thirties I guess
She cried
And still she moves my way
And still she comes my way
She cried: 'Why do I always hurt the ones I love'
Its like an Elvis in the soul
High above me
A deep and intense fear
High above me
Her hands healing
High above me
And it started coming down
Yeah, it started coming down, now.

With those stealing eyes
She got stealing eyes
There's an illness in my soul
There's an illness in my soul
There's a fever in my mind
The disease is in my bones
The disease is...
It gets to you in the deep of the night
And still she comes my way
When you are sad and lonely
And even the touch of her
Fingertips on your elbow would do
And even the sounds of her footsteps in the hall would do
And even her breath on my face would do
Everything would do you know
Now she dances around that hall
And I've seen her wearing that dress before
It's a tropic of cancer
In the soul

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