her charms belie a painful past
her throat is dry she lifts her glass
of whiskey rye
too fast
to drink
the last few drops roll down her cheek
and she laughs
and wipes her mouth for me
for me
her looks should be in magazines
walking and talking like a movie queen
then there's that which she calls "not for me"
and she knows
the life that she let go for me
yeah she knows
the life that she let go for me
and her glass never said to me "i'll drink to that"
no her glass never said to me "i'll drink to that"
and she laughs and raises up her glass