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She lifts her skirt up to her knees |
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Walks through the garden rows with her bare feet laughin' |
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I never learned to count my blessings |
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I choose instead to dwell in my disasters |
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I walk on down the hill through grass grown tall and brown |
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And still it's hard somehow to let go of my pain |
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On past the busted backs on its old and rusted |
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Cadillac that sink into this field collecting rain |
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And will I always feel this way? |
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So empty so estranged |
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And of these cutthroat busted sunsets |
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These cold and damp white mornings I have grown weary |
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And if through my cracked and dusty country lips |
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I spoke these words out loud would no one hear me? |
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Lay your blouse across the chair, let fall the flowers from your hair |
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And kiss me with that country mouth so plain |
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Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves |
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To me it sounds like they're applauding us the quiet love we make |
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Will I always feel this way? |
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So empty so estranged |
