Southtowne Lanes
Curbside
He was tired, and he was not preparedShe called, and he went to herHer hair smelled like cigarettes and soapAnd her face was pale under bright orange fluorescentsFour-thirty in the morning and she criedAnd he felt the anger riseHe swore he’d go and find the man, but he was afraidFour-thirty in the morning and she criedAnd he felt the anger riseHe should be able to help her, but he never couldHe put his arm around her in attempt to soothe herShe felt relief from the hand and told him everythingAlcohol and a misplaced sense of trust told the storyAnd that was all he’d needed to hearHe was not preparedHe was not preparedHe was not preparedFour-thirty in the morning and she criedAnd he felt the anger riseHe swore he’d go and find the man, but he was afraidFour-thirty in the morning and she criedAnd he felt the anger riseHe should be able to help her, but he never couldNo, he never could
From Letras Mania