作词 : Springsteen
Lyrics：Bruce Springsteen Music：Bruce Springsteen
I slipped on her shoe, she was a perfect size seven
I said 'There's no smokin' in the store, ma'am'
She crossed her legs and then
We made some small talk, that's where it should have stopped
She slipped me her number, I put it in my pocked
My hand slipped up her skirt, everything slipped my mind
In that little roadhouse
On Highway 29
It was a small-town bank, it was a mess
Well I had a gun, you know the rest
Money on the floorboards, shirt was covered in blood
And she was cryin', her and me we headed south
On Highway 29
In al little desert motel the air was hot and clean
I slept the sleep of the dead, I didn't dream
I woke in the morning, washed my face in the sink
We headed into the Sierra Madres 'cross the border line
The winter sun shot through the black trees
I told myself it was all something in her
But as we drove I knew it was something in me
Something that'd been comin' for a long long time
And something that was here with me now
On Highway 29
The road was filled with broken glass and gasoline
She wasn't sayin' nothin', it was just a dream
The wind come silent through the windshield
All I could see was snow, sky and pines
I closed my eyes and I was runnin'
I was runnin', then I was flyin'