On the beach, writing in the sand,
she's a throwaway from the promised land,
All she owns is on her back
she carries everything in a little papersack.
She writes her story in the sand each day,
the tide rolls in to wash it all away, wash it all away.
She's trying to tell us how sad it seems
to spend your life a prisoner of a dream.
She' s very fragile and she lost her mind.
Her life is precious, but the world is so unkind, it's so unkind.
Her eyes are empty as she madly writes
she starts in the morning, she goes till late at night,
late at night.
She writes her story in the sand each day,
the tide rolls in to wash it all away.
She's trying to tell us how sad it seems
to spend your life a prisoner of a dream.
She's a prisoner.
She understands there's no way out,
she can't figure what the dream is all about,
what's it all about?
She does her sleepîng out on the street,
She burns a little money, wraps rags around her feet,
rags around her feet.
She writes her story in the sand each day,
the tide rolls in to wash it all away.
She's trying to tell us how sad it seems
to live your life a prisoner of a dream.
YOu know she's just a prisoner, she's a prisoner.
All alone each and every day.
It's a land of plenty, but she's got nowhere to stay,
she's got nowhere to stay.
The streets and alleys is where she lives,
'cause the land of plenty, it got no more to give,
got no more to give.
A cardboard box gonna be her bed,
the sky's the only roof above her head.
The streets are teaching her what it means
to be a prisoner of the American dream.
She's a prisoner, she's a prisoner, she's a prisoner,
she's a prisoner, just a prisoner. She's a prisoner.
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she's a throwaway from the promised land,
All she owns is on her back
she carries everything in a little papersack.
She writes her story in the sand each day,
the tide rolls in to wash it all away, wash it all away.
She's trying to tell us how sad it seems
to spend your life a prisoner of a dream.
She' s very fragile and she lost her mind.
Her life is precious, but the world is so unkind, it's so unkind.
Her eyes are empty as she madly writes
she starts in the morning, she goes till late at night,
late at night.
She writes her story in the sand each day,
the tide rolls in to wash it all away.
She's trying to tell us how sad it seems
to spend your life a prisoner of a dream.
She's a prisoner.
She understands there's no way out,
she can't figure what the dream is all about,
what's it all about?
She does her sleepîng out on the street,
She burns a little money, wraps rags around her feet,
rags around her feet.
She writes her story in the sand each day,
the tide rolls in to wash it all away.
She's trying to tell us how sad it seems
to live your life a prisoner of a dream.
YOu know she's just a prisoner, she's a prisoner.
All alone each and every day.
It's a land of plenty, but she's got nowhere to stay,
she's got nowhere to stay.
The streets and alleys is where she lives,
'cause the land of plenty, it got no more to give,
got no more to give.
A cardboard box gonna be her bed,
the sky's the only roof above her head.
The streets are teaching her what it means
to be a prisoner of the American dream.
She's a prisoner, she's a prisoner, she's a prisoner,
she's a prisoner, just a prisoner. She's a prisoner.
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