There was something in the envelope she passed him
|
That weighed more to him than paper and some ink
|
It had a hint of something darker and a hint of something sweet
|
And a little extra glue right on the tip
|
There was something in the pain that shot right through him
|
As he climbed up to the place he called his home
|
They say every man's house should be his palace
|
But his castle stank of cat shit and alone
|
|
So he opened it and found a faded picture
|
Of a girl he's never met, but somehow seen
|
Like a memory of a dream from early childhood
|
Like a virgin's idea of release
|
|
She said "I can bend my arms until they're backward
|
But you can't bend your will to take in mine
|
And I could hold my breath until next Wednesday
|
And still be doing fine"
|
|
He was sad in ways he couldn't tell her
|
Though she could make his sadness all her own
|
He couldn't see the use in spreading sadness
|
So he took his dark depression and went home
|
She saw things in him he never bargained
|
But it wasn't enough to save either one of them
|
Because she took that sadness one step further
|
And left him all alone to face the end
|
|
-----------------
|
Wednesday
|
| Drive-By Truckers |
