There's gotta be a record of you someplace 

You gotta be on somebody's books 

The lowdown, a picture of your face 

Your injured looks 

The sacred and profane 

The pleasure and the pain 

Somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete 

And it's your face I'm looking for on every street

A ladykiller, regulation tattoo 

Silver spurs on his heels 

Says, what can I tell you, as I'm standing next to you 

She threw herself under my wheels 

Oh it's a dangerous road 

And a hazardous load 

And the fireworks over liberty explode in the heat 

And it's your face I'm looking for on every street

A three-chord symphony crashes into space 

The moon is hanging upside down 

I don't know why it is I'm still on the case 

It's a ravenous town 

And you still refuse to be traced 

Seems to me such a waste 

And every victory has a taste that's bittersweet 

And it's your face I'm looking for on every street. 

Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits - On Every Street, 1991)

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