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A friend of mine told me of a fight he had with his wife many months ago. They had torn into each others tenderest parts. They didn't hold back their rage...
Just three miles from the rest stop
And she slams on the breaks
She said I tried to be but I'm not
And could you please collect your things
I don't wanna be cold
I don't wanna be cruel
But I gotta find more
Than what's happening with you
If you'd - open up the door
Months after the fight, they had grown tired of each other, tired of trying, tired. They wanted something to make the pain go away. One wanted peace. One wanted out.
She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what you're dreaming when
It came to mind that I didn't care
So I thought - hell if it's over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
Have you forgotten
My buddy didn't know quite what to do. You see, the better part of advice he got was from casual bar conversations with other women and from TV shows. My friend didn't have a clue. But his wife, she had ideas. You see, she couldn't communicate the tension she felt. So she had been sleeping around to comfort herself, to console herself, to die inside to the man she once loved. The man who abused her by not being there.
Just three miles from the rest stop
And my mouth's too dry to rage
The light was shining from the radio
I could barely see her face
But she knew all the words that I never had said
She knew the crumpled-up promise of this
Broken down man - and as I opened up the door
They both had somehow gotten off track. One sought to keep up with the Jones' and the other gave her soul to follow someone who didn't truly know how to love. But they tried. And they wondered, were they ever on track in the first place?



