| The evening storms would roll in through the middle of June
|
| And when the storm had passed, she’d take a walk
|
| Among the oak trees and find the rock
|
| While her and Ritchie would watch the moon come up
|
| Every summer he’d come back with yarns to spin
|
| And he would quickly sweep her off her feet
|
| And they’d be dancing among the leaves
|
| And he would whisper to her dark and sweet
|
| Everyone knew, but they kept it from her
|
| How Ritchie ran his job van to a tree
|
| Sometimes he would play pool and have a few more drinks
|
| Maybe one more just to clear his head
|
| While she would wait because she thought
|
| That Ritchie was the closest to a saint
|
| That night the moon rose, first gold, then red
|
| A thunder rumbled in the rolling hills
|
| And she could not hear a siren’s wail
|
| Or she might’ve seen his twisted rails
|
| Everyone knew, but they kept it from her
|
| How Ritchie ran his job van to a tree
|
| In his pocket was a ring for her
|
| But the road, it curved, and Ritchie drove straight through
|
| Evening, she goes walking towards the old oak grove
|
| And plum blossoms are falling on the road
|
| Years had passed, now she walks
|
| With Ritchie’s brother Tony, hand in hand
|
| She told herself she’d never get to love again
|
| Not after the awful thing she’d been through
|
| But how a woman can endure so much
|
| That she just cannot explain
|
| Everyone knew, but they kept it from her
|
| That Tony fell asleep behind the wheel
|
| In his pocket was a letter for her
|
| Saying Ritchie’s gone, but I’ll take care of you |