A sweltering room in a small hotel outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas
With the lights turned out the mosquitos look for blood
And she blindly looks for love
Tonight he is the poet and she is the restless page
He scribbles sonnets so sweet she still sings them today
One hundred telephones ring in a rhapsodic rejoice
When she picks up the receiver she won't hear anyone's voice
Her fingers still ache and her lip begins to quiver
She wants to soar away, but gravity is such a killer
Tantalizing tender tendons trace over tiny turquoise buttons
And it seems like such a queer color for a young girl to wear
When her dress hits the hotel carpet it almost looks like it belongs there
Who's to say what's right when what's done is done
She's not 16 anymore
She doesn't see him anymore
Her parents don't ask where she is anymore
She doesn't fall in love so easily anymore
His intentions are ambivalent, but he pretends that they're benevolent
Do you like the night time he asks her gently
Maybe the sun won't come up she says
If we lay here long enough maybe we'll stay in love
At least that's a chance more than I've had
She pictures herself as the bride as he slowly drains his pen
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