At last the kids have gone now for the day
She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away
Another day to tend the house and plan
For Friday at the Legion when she's dancing with her man
Sure was a bitter winter, but Friday will be fine,
And maybe last year's Easter dress will serve her one more time
She'd pass for twenty-nine before her eyes,
But winter lines are telling wicked lies
All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies, all lies
Too many lines there in that face--
Too many to erase or to disguise--
They must be telling lies
Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers slipped that ring onto her hand?
No need to search that mirror for the years
The menace of their message shouts across the blur of tears
So is this Beauty's finish, like Rodin's "
Belle Heaulmière
"?
The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife's toil and care
Well, after seven kids, that's no surprise,
But why cannot the mirror tell her lies
All lies
All those lines, they're telling wicked lies
Lies, all lies
Too many lines there in that face--
Too many to erase or to disguise--
They must be telling lies
She shakes off the bitter web she wove
Turns and puts the mirror gently face-down by the stove
She gathers up her apron in her hand,
Pours a cup of coffee, drips Carnation from the can,
And thinks ahead to Friday, 'cause Friday will be fine
When she looks up in that weathered face that loves hers, line for line,
To see that maiden shining in his eyes,
And laugh at how the mirror tells her lies
All lies
All those lines, they're telling wicked lies
Lies, all lies
Too many lines there in that face--
Too many to erase or disguise--
They must be telling lies
All lies
All those lines, they're telling wicked lies
Lies, all lies
Too many lines there in that face--
Too many to erase or disguise--
They must be telling lies