Born to run

Released: 25.Aug.1975

Live in New York City

Released: 27.Mar.2001

The Essential

Released: 11.Nov.2003

Hammersmith Odeon, London 1975

Released:15.nov 2005

  

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Jungleland

Lyrics By Bruce Springsteen

The rangers had a homecoming

in Harlem late last night

And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine

over the Jersey state line

Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge

Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain

The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants

Together they take a stab at romance

and disappear down Flamingo Lane

 

Well the Maximum Lawman run down Flamingo

chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl

And the kids round here look just like shadows

always quiet, holding hands

From the churches to the jails

tonight all is silence in the world

As we take our stand

 

down in Jungleland

 

The midnight gang's assembled

and picked a rendezvous for the night

They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign

that brings this fair city light

 

Man there's an opera out on the Turnpike

There's a ballet being fought out in the alley

Until the local cops, Cherry Tops, rips this holy night

 

The street's alive as secret debts are paid

Contacts made, they vanished unseen

Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades

hustling for the record machine

 

The hungry and the hunted

explode into rock'n'roll bands

That face off against each other out in the street

 

down in Jungleland

 

In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage

Inside the backstreet girls

are dancing to the records that the D.J. plays

 

Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners

Desperate as the night moves on,

just a look and a whisper, and they're gone

 

Beneath the city two hearts beat

Soul engines running through a night so tender

in a bedroom locked

In whispers of soft refusal

and then surrender

in the tunnels uptown

The Rat's own dream guns him down

as shots echo down them hallways in the night

No one watches when the ambulance pulls away

Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light

 

Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz

Between flesh and what's fantasy

and the poets down here

Don't write nothing at all,

they just stand back and let it all be

 

And in the quick of the night

they reach for their moment

And try to make an honest stand

but they wind up wounded, not even dead

 

Tonight in Jungleland

 

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