| She runs away
|
| With nothing to say
|
| Shoes in her hands
|
| Is salvation coming near?
|
| Her hair’s a mess
|
| And look at that dress
|
| Can’t help to say
|
| She’s got the pills to make it better
|
| Maybe she needs therapy
|
| Or maybe she just don’t need me
|
| Drinkin', drivin', one night stands
|
| Slit your wrist and try again
|
| Mom is gone, daddy’s away
|
| Sometimes there’s nothing left to say
|
| Doesn’t want to hold my hand
|
| Never call it home again
|
| Down by the liquor store
|
| At the corner if she wants more
|
| Take you places far away
|
| Replace the words that you can’t say
|
| Home is where the heart (ache) is
|
| Empty bottles, fucked up kids
|
| Looking for that other place
|
| Somethings you just can’t erase
|
| Left for dead one Saturday
|
| Took the plunge and drove away
|
| Close your eyes, try to forget
|
| Home is where the heart (ache) is
|
| Maybe she needs therapy
|
| Or maybe she just don’t need me
|
| Drinkin', drivin', one night stands
|
| Slit your wrist and try again
|
| Home is where the heart (ache) is |