What does she feel in the morning
when she gets up before the sun
what does she see in the mirror
is it someone that used to be young

and I sometimes wonder what she’s doin’ here
and why her everyday is the same
and I’m sitting here in a cloud of smoke
not even knowing her name

and when the noontime sun rides through the sky
she will leave this place for awhile
and she will try to have something for herself
that will give her a reason to smile

and I know
that there’s nothing I can do
when I don’t even know her name

when it’s not busy she sits at the counter
and feels her strength fade away
and she hopes for a change of this sorry scene
but God, it’s just another day

and her auburn hair does not belong here
and those eyes deserve a better place
somewhere where there’s peace for her soul
somewhere where there is hope for her face

the morning’s a prison, these tables are cells
and her life is just a sentence served
her days are short and her nights are long
it’s a fate that is not deserved

and I know
that there’s nothing I can do
when I don’t even know her name

but maybe she’s the light in the morning’s dark
maybe she’s the dawn’s last chance
maybe she doesn’t even need these words
for she doesn’t even give me a second glance

and I know
there’s nothing she wants from me
and I don’t even know her name

(from “Part Five: An Album Full”)

I used to work in a department store – selling lamps and rugs – and once, early in the morning before work, I met a couple of the older salesmen for breakfast. There was a waitress at the little restaurant who was pretty but looked sad and burnt out. This got my imagination going. I got to thinking about how I could ‘save’ her. But then my ego gave way to the thoughts expressed in the last few lines. I also notice that I gave her a name in the title despite repeatedly saying I didn’t know it.