| Song | Lies |
| Artist | Playing Rapunzel |
| Album | Abseiling For Beginners |
| At last the kids have gone now for the day | |
| She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away | |
| Another day to tend the house and plan | |
| For Friday at the Legion when she's dancing with her man | |
| Sure was a bitter winter, but Friday will be fine, | |
| And maybe last year's Easter dress will serve her one more time | |
| She'd pass for twenty-nine before her eyes, | |
| But winter lines are telling wicked lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines are telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face-- | |
| Too many to erase or to disguise-- | |
| They must be telling lies | |
| Is this the face that won for her the man | |
| Whose amazed and clumsy fingers slipped that ring onto her hand? | |
| No need to search that mirror for the years | |
| The menace of their message shouts across the blur of tears | |
| So is this Beauty's finish, like Rodin's " | |
| Belle Heaulmière | |
| "? | |
| The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife's toil and care | |
| Well, after seven kids, that's no surprise, | |
| But why cannot the mirror tell her lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines, they're telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face-- | |
| Too many to erase or to disguise-- | |
| They must be telling lies | |
| She shakes off the bitter web she wove | |
| Turns and puts the mirror gently face-down by the stove | |
| She gathers up her apron in her hand, | |
| Pours a cup of coffee, drips Carnation from the can, | |
| And thinks ahead to Friday, 'cause Friday will be fine | |
| When she looks up in that weathered face that loves hers, line for line, | |
| To see that maiden shining in his eyes, | |
| And laugh at how the mirror tells her lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines, they're telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face-- | |
| Too many to erase or disguise-- | |
| They must be telling lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines, they're telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face-- | |
| Too many to erase or disguise-- | |
| They must be telling lies |
| At last the kids have gone now for the day | |
| She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away | |
| Another day to tend the house and plan | |
| For Friday at the Legion when she' s dancing with her man | |
| Sure was a bitter winter, but Friday will be fine, | |
| And maybe last year' s Easter dress will serve her one more time | |
| She' d pass for twentynine before her eyes, | |
| But winter lines are telling wicked lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines are telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face | |
| Too many to erase or to disguise | |
| They must be telling lies | |
| Is this the face that won for her the man | |
| Whose amazed and clumsy fingers slipped that ring onto her hand? | |
| No need to search that mirror for the years | |
| The menace of their message shouts across the blur of tears | |
| So is this Beauty' s finish, like Rodin' s " | |
| Belle Heaulmiè re | |
| "? | |
| The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife' s toil and care | |
| Well, after seven kids, that' s no surprise, | |
| But why cannot the mirror tell her lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines, they' re telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face | |
| Too many to erase or to disguise | |
| They must be telling lies | |
| She shakes off the bitter web she wove | |
| Turns and puts the mirror gently facedown by the stove | |
| She gathers up her apron in her hand, | |
| Pours a cup of coffee, drips Carnation from the can, | |
| And thinks ahead to Friday, ' cause Friday will be fine | |
| When she looks up in that weathered face that loves hers, line for line, | |
| To see that maiden shining in his eyes, | |
| And laugh at how the mirror tells her lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines, they' re telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face | |
| Too many to erase or disguise | |
| They must be telling lies | |
| All lies | |
| All those lines, they' re telling wicked lies | |
| Lies, all lies | |
| Too many lines there in that face | |
| Too many to erase or disguise | |
| They must be telling lies |