A folk story This is hers too, reflect me & you
You hear Fix her own goddam shoes
This is her. Save her dog from a pit-bull
Play heart, Really this isn't the first rodeo
Strings, ooo. Necessity is the mother of everything
That's rag A head full of ideas of how things
Time live Should be, you know this is pure
or Die try Apathy transformed into empathy
Everything Her own person, move it's time to go
Don't lie. Add another town but she stays home
Ex trope Always, but this is merely a portrait
Of mine. You have to see her to know it.
She is twenty-two
With a sleeve of tattoos
Imbued with meaning.
No waiting tables
Or pulling/pouring shots,
On the road you don't look back,
Explode like fireworks into the sun,
Ninth grade education
And she holds her own against train-hoppers,
I would say her beauty is
Like a leather hide cured and crafted
A hide that was ingrateful
A deer who gave life painfully
And a leather piece that was the product of the century
The struggle then the understanding
The careful crafting of her soul,
She isn't from your world, you don't know
Or care to know a traveling girl
You must think something when you see her on the street
I can see her singing in the key of free right in front of me,
It's in her living room and I am a guest,
You see appearances often deceive,
Get it?
See?
One more look and you won't believe.
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