Nighttime's falling on the Summerlea
|
And supper's getting cold
|
It's the second time in as many weeks
|
That he hasn't shown
|
He's probably chasing some old steer
|
Across some prairie storm
|
But when she asks him he'll just shrug
|
And say that's the way things go
|
But he only gets into town twice a month
|
And he gets out as fast as he can
|
And he don't have a phone so she can't call him up
|
And she never knows where he is
|
He smells like horses and he chews tobacco
|
And he cusses and he spits
|
She's been in love a couple of times before
|
But never quite like this
|
Next month it'll be those damned old rodeos and fairs
|
And he'll be gone for six weeks straight
|
To God only knows where
|
And he won't win any money
|
And worst than that, he won't care
|
When she asks him, he'll just smile
|
He had a really good time out there
|
But he only gets into town twice a month
|
And he gets out as fast as he can
|
And he don't have a phone so she can't call him up
|
And she never knows where he is
|
He smells like horses and he chews tobacco
|
And he cusses and he spits
|
She's been in love a couple times before
|
But never quite like this
|
Well, he stops his horse to get a light
|
And the water pours off his hat
|
He's been out in the rain most of the night
|
And he ought to be getting back
|
He's been thinking about the colour of her hair
|
And the touch of her hand
|
And the way she quietly smiles
|
Whenever she looks at him
|
But he only gets into town twice a month
|
And he gets out out as fast as he can
|
And he don't have a phone so he can't call her up
|
And he never knows where she is
|
She smells like flowers and perfume
|
And tobacco and gin
|
He's been in love a couple of times before
|
But never quite like this
|
He's been in love a couple times before
|
But never quite like this
|
Nighttime's falling on the Summerlea
|
And supper's getting cold
|
|
-----------------
|
Summerlea
|
| Fred Eaglesmith |
