Behind the wheel of a yellow cab
On the outskirts of Birmingham
He dreams of a traffic jam
In Manhattan
Below the city in a subway car
She feels just like a shooting star
Never thought she could get so far
From her old man
The last phonebooth in New York City
Ringing all day, calling somebody home
She doesn't answer, she walks faster
She won't be going back to Alabaster
She won't be going back
She won't be going back to Alabaster
Thousand miles away, she still feels it
Scrape of his chin, bruise on her spirit
The phone is calling but she won't get near it
Ever again
Steps on the gas just to harness the anger
Last thing he do is try to understand her
Stuck in time like a fly in the amber
And he never transcends
The last phonebooth in New York City
Ringing all day, calling somebody home
She doesn't answer, she walks faster
She won't be going back to Alabaster
She won't be going back (yeah)
She won't be going back to Alabaster
Time passes, distance grows wider
Dark features brighter and brighter
She's got a new heart beating inside her
And she's her own master
She won't be going back (she's her own master)
She won't be going back (she's her own master)
The last phonebooth in New York City
Ringing all day, calling somebody home
She doesn't answer, she walks faster
The last phonebooth in New York City
Ringing all day, calling somebody home
She doesn't answer, she walks faster
She won't be going back to Alabaster
Yeah, she won't be going back
She won't be going back to Alabaster
She won't be going back
She won't be going back to Alabaster
She won't be going back
She won't be going back to Alabaster
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
