She took off her stockings, I held them to my face.
She had your ankles, I felt filled with grace.
"Two hundred dollars straight in,
Two-fifty up the ass," she smiled and said.
She unbuckled my belt, pulled back her hair,
And sat in front of me on the bed.
She said, "Honey how's that feel, do you want me to go slow?"
My eyes drifted out the window, down to the road below.

I felt my stomach tighten. The sun bloodied the sky
And sliced through the hotel blinds. I closed my eyes.
Sunlight on the Amatitlan, sunlight streaming through your hair.
In the Valle de dos Rios, smell of mock orange filled the air.
We rode with the vaqueros, down into cool rivers of green.
I was sure the work and that smile coming out 'neath your hat
Was all I'd ever need.
Somehow all you ever need's, never really quite enough you know.
You and I, Maria, we learned it's so.

She slipped me out of her mouth, "You're ready," she said.
She took off her bra and panties, wet her finger, slipped it inside her,
And crawled over me on the bed.
She poured me another whiskey,
Said, "Here's to the best you ever had."
We laughed and made a toast.
It wasn't the best I ever had,
Not even close. Writer/s: BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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