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DRUTHERS

evëry night he wakes, bracing for tomorrow
morning soon to break, canít afford the sorrow

reaching for the nearest phone
he replays a voice-mail that she moaned, early last evening
said she needs more healing time
nothing he can form in phrase or mime will stop the bleeding
with a sigh he concedes

sheís got that "iím gonna tell him i need more time to think
but iíve made up my mind" look
designed with intention to see his name in ink
in her suitors declined book

and evëry time she rings, still he runs to answer
bending to her voice, bowing to romance her

then the all-familiar news
leaves him with his tongue tied to those shoes he wonít be needing
flowers to be flushed away
with her late respondez síil vous plait, so much for breeding
yet he still canít believe

sheís got that "iím gonna tell him i need more time to think
but iíve made up my mind" look
designed with intention to see his name in ink
in her suitors declined book

and evëry lie she tells generates another
oceans waves may may swell, many tears to smother
iíd fare just as well hitting on her mother
'cause potions no one sells to wash away her druthers

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Copyright ©2003 Ryeside Music (BMI)