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Bobby Long
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I'm Not Going Out Tonight
There is a place where she smiles a lot, in the darkened corner of a parking lot, before men walked upon the moon when you played the swinging doors of a lonely saloon She waits for me there There is a place where she still goes, in the wintery night where her story flows, before we all sold our souls for money and the jokes we told were still considered funny, she waits for me there, in the cold hours of the morning with the wind in her hair I'm not going out tonight until the songs we know are all played inside, and the old cars empty rust and the CD players start to gather dust somewhere only she knows in the cheap thrills of the morning with the cold spill of my woes There is a place where we are together where the mountain thyme grows around the heather, before the drive-thru cinema died and a truthful word replaced with one big lie She waits for me there There is a place where I last saw her, with a hushed out tone and a borrowed fur, just as the maps were changed I took a wrong turn looking for her golden plain, She waits for me there in the cold hours of the morning with the wind in her hair There is a place, and it's not to be seen where the air is young and the water's clean, where the juggernaut cut the sailor's scar but on the moons above riding a shooting star, She waits for me there
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