"She don't like roses, she don't like champagne.
She took a step away from the fast lane.
She lives on Jones Road, down by the freight train.
You met her on a Monday, you were in love by Tuesday night.
She lived in Detroit, she lived in Boston.
She had a couple years there she got lost in.
She still gets shaky but not too often.
You take her in your arms when you want to calm her down.
She wants a tree house, she wants a garden.
A little bit of land to put her hands in.
It smells like lavender in her apartment.
It's always on your clothes every time you're going home.
And if all your dreams come true,
do your memories still end up haunting you?
Is there such a thing as really breaking through,
to another day and a brighter shade of blue?
She don't like roses.
She don't drink champagne.
And now you're walking home in the soft rain.
You pass the mailman, you watch the lights change.
And you're feeling fine.
You don't even mind the rain."
-Christine Kane, 'She Don't Like Roses'
photo taken on a particularly rainy wet spring day here in my back yard.
No comments:
Post a Comment