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Late on a |
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Friday my husband went up to the mountains with three friends |
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They took provisions and bottles of bourbon to last them all through the weekend |
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One hundred miles they drove just to fish in a stream |
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And there's so much water so close to home |
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When they arrived it was cold and dark; they set up their camp quickly |
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Warmed up with whisky they walked to the river where the water flowed past darkly |
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In the moonlight they saw the body of a young girl floating face down |
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And there's so much water so close to home |
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When he hold me now |
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I'm pretending |
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I feel like |
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I'm frozen inside |
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And behind my eyes, my daily disguise |
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Everything's turning to white |
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It was too hard to tell how long she'd been dead, the river was that close to freezing |
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But one thing for sure, the girl hadn't died very well to judge from the bruising |
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They stood there above her all thinking the same thoughts at the same time |
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There's so much water so close to home |
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They carried her downstream from their fishing; between two rocks they gently wedged her |
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After all they'd come so far, it was late |
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And the girl would keep; she was going nowhere |
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They stayed up there fishing for two days |
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They reported it on |
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Sunday when they came back down |
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There's so much water so close to home |
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When he holds me now |
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I'm pretending |
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I feel like |
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I'm frozen inside |
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And behind my eyes, my daily disguise |
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Everything's turning to white |
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The newspapers said that the girl had been strangled to death and also molested |
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On the day of the funeral the radio reported that a young man had been arrested |
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I went to the service a stranger; |
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I drove past the lake out of town |
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There's so much water so close to home |
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When he holds me now |
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I'm pretending |
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I feel like |
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I'm frozen inside |
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And behind my eyes, my daily disguise |
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Everything's turning to white |
