Listen to the song and complete the gaps

One day, when clouds grew and started crying,
and and wild flashes cut the air,
the greasy spoon was quiet,
beside the sounds of frying,
till a figure dressed in black claims her own chair.
She glides into her seat, and she tries to be ,
but her sway is enough a wandering eye.
She calls over the waiter with two fingers in the sky,
and orders a pastrami .

The waiter brings a , then turns clammy.
As he gets lost in her eyes a moment more,
a face like hers is easy to remember,
as he's seen it on the news ten times before.
She slips her left hand into her breast pocket,
and one hundred dollars from her blouse.
You can keep this if you say you never me,
and if you don't, I'll make you quiet as a cold dead mouse.
No, don't you . No, no, no, don't you .
Whatever secrets I got, they will be yours as well.
No, don't you squeal.
No, no, no, don't you .
And put that mustard on the side,
or you'll wind up in the .

The waiter walks back to the kitchen with her order,
the payment for his silence in .
Now he would have let her slide and shut his ,
if that little hussy hadn't given lip.
So he offers a proposal, plus the hundred.
You will follow me behind the case.
I bet that you can make a man forget his troubles,
and in exchange I won't ring anyone who knows your face.
No, I won't squeal. No, no, no, I won't .
We will have a few more secrets,
but I'll never tell. No, I won't .
No, no, no, I won't .
And there's that mustard beautiful.
Would you care

She smiles a sweet smile and closer,
twirling her two fingers round his tie.
Now what good is having in your pocket,
if you don't to spend before you die?
She pins his right hand to the table with a steak knife
and that spicy mustard in his eyes.
I'm too hungry to kill you, sir,
but now I really .
I leave my sandwich on the road,
where I can hear your sorry cries.
No, don't you squeal. No, no, no, don't you yell.
Whatever secrets I've got, they'll be yours .
No, don't you squeal. No, no, no, don't you snitch.
The customers, they came and went.
The nameless, faceless dawn imprint.
Who orders eggs or grits or tea become the fleeting memory?
What chances are he won't forget the lady who ,
who ordered the on rye.