| She’s got a candle lit by her window
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| With a double-barrel shotgun next to her rocking chair
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| She’s been waiting
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| And this old lady, she’s been waiting 12 years now
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| For nothing else she cares
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| A beat-up Winnebago in the American desert
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| A dirt road leads to an abandoned oil farm and tumbleweed is the most movement
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| that it sees
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| Her car stays parked in the lot still filled with gasoline
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| Who knows? |
| Maybe one day she’ll need it
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| Should James ever turn up and she decides to act upon her basic instincts,
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| she will need it
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| That getaway car and those dead roses on his shelf are the only things that she
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| holds dear anymore
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| James made a promise that he can’t keep anymore
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| But he’ll try to
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| Oh, he’ll try to
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| Well he’s in too deep
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| She’s been waiting for him
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| She’s got something for him
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| Well he’s under her skin
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| Oh, he don’t know it but he’s
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| Coming home to something
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| The tires on his pickup pick up dirt on his way in
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| And she can see him from a mile away
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| James has come to confess his sins and gather the love that he once leaned on
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| She’s as patient and determined to commit her first
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| Silence
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| She hears his foot steps as he makes his way to the front door
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| She shoulders her weapon
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| «Sweetheart?»
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| Silence
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| James steps into the Winnebago, «Sweetheart, I’m home»
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| She feels a rush so strong, she could come from the feeling that those eyes and
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| his voice
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| Memories of love and laughter, sheets that hold him in the night,
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| never letting in that morning after
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| She remembers
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| Bang
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| She remembered
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| Well he’s in too deep
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| She’s been waiting for him
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| She’s got something for him
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| Well he’s under her skin
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| Oh, he don’t know it but he’s
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| Coming home to something
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| Off she goes, full tank and a bag of clothes
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| Nothing but fire behind her
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| She speeds out that dirt road
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| She’s finally free
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| Mr. Roadhouse is finally free |