What's come to stay from the cannonball days   but a house and some clothes on the line   fire the wave of your drunken brigade   the streets of New York as a child      Woman so fine, and fine as a girl,   slow like an italian wine   hair all a mess and a dress all disheveled   and all of your roses have died      Better luck in the next life,   cause you gonna need it, dear   loved you back then but i couldn't say when   all of your roses have died      Tasted your lips with my hands on your hips   danced in an apartment named nine,   your cats on the sill and my head to your breast   feeding your rhythms divine      A west jersey queen with a rattle machine,   tasted the salt thru your skin,   loved you back then, but I couldn't say when   all of your roses have died      Better luck in the next life,   go give them some hell and goodbye   loved you back then but I couldn't say when   all of your roses have died      Bask in the heat down on Christopher Street   bought you a rose from a bum   left you a note that I stuffed in your coat   laughed and you said it was done      Broke like a stem and I guess you're with him   I'm sure that he treats you just fine   so bottoms up cheers baby here's to your tears   and all of your roses have died      Better luck in the next life   I miss you but go on goodbye   I feel like a straight from this cannonball days   when all of your roses were mine   when all of your roses were mine   when all of your roses were mine