Christine Kane She Don't Like Roses
She don't like roses
She don't like champagne
She took a step away from the fast lane
She lives on Jones Road
Down by the freight train
You met her on Monday
You were in love by Tuesday night
She lived in Detroit
She lived in Boston
She had a couple years there
She got lost in
She still gets shake-y
But not too often
You take her in your arms
When you want to calm her down
And her bed is under her window
And the sun's going down in the west
And her voice whispers softly, Go real slow
And you watch the rhythm of her breath
She wants a tree house
She wants a garden
A little bit of land
To put her hands in
It smells like lavender
In her apartment
It's always on your clothes
Every time you're going home
And her bed is under her window
And her fingers brush over your chest
With your heart beating fast you go real slow
And you match the rhythm of her breath
And if all your dreams come true
Do your memories still end up haunting you?
Is there such a thing as really breaking through
To another day and a brighter shade of blue?
And her bed is under her window
And her arm's laying over your chest
And the street light is soft on her pillow
You can feel the rhythm of her breath
She don't like roses
She don't drink champagne
And now you're walking home
In the soft rain
You pass the mailman
You watch the lights change
And you're feeling fine
And you don't even mind the rain
