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She Don't Like Roses
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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 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 shake-y, But not too often. You take her in your arms, When you want to calm her down. And her bed is under her window, And the sun's going down in the west. And her voice whispers softly, Go real slow. And you watch the rhythm of her breath. 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.

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