Social Wedding Rings

	作曲 : McEntire, Mount Moriah
	In a motel room in
	Colorado Springs,
	We learned what impatience brings
	To women who fool around.
	That summer was a strung-out mess,
	And you swore to
	God you had the perfect fix,
	And a plan to get us out.
	You said, "Don't you turn around.Leave your strings at the door,And just walk out."
	I sat in the living room
	And watched your girlfriend pack her things
	To move away from you.
	Our record:
	Buffy Sainte-
	Marie,And we held hands and cried'
	Til we couldn't see anything.
	You said, "Don't you turn around.You wouldn't like what you found here anyhow."
	So I took a red-eye from the
	Bay,Watched you watch the taxi pull away
	From Mission
	Street.The next time we would meet
	Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep.
	Mistakes made, empty hymns.
	I said, "Don't you make a sound.Nothing's careful in desire,Especially now."
	There were no accidents;
	We asked for this.
	But the South is not out
	West.There's nothing gentle about
	Our stomachs full of gin.
	We are alive, and we have no regrets.
	In a farmhouse in the
	Piedmont Hills,
	We learned what impatience wills
	To women who fool around.
	If thievery has a voice to to sing
	It's the choice and sound of moving hands
	Over social wedding rings.
	I said, "Don't you turn around.Leave your strings at the door,And just walk out."

	zuò qǔ : McEntire, Mount Moriah
	In a motel room in
	Colorado Springs,
	We learned what impatience brings
	To women who fool around.
	That summer was a strungout mess,
	And you swore to
	God you had the perfect fix,
	And a plan to get us out.
	You said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out."
	I sat in the living room
	And watched your girlfriend pack her things
	To move away from you.
	Our record:
	Buffy Sainte
	Marie, And we held hands and cried'
	Til we couldn' t see anything.
	You said, " Don' t you turn around. You wouldn' t like what you found here anyhow."
	So I took a redeye from the
	Bay, Watched you watch the taxi pull away
	From Mission
	Street. The next time we would meet
	Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep.
	Mistakes made, empty hymns.
	I said, " Don' t you make a sound. Nothing' s careful in desire, Especially now."
	There were no accidents
	We asked for this.
	But the South is not out
	West. There' s nothing gentle about
	Our stomachs full of gin.
	We are alive, and we have no regrets.
	In a farmhouse in the
	Piedmont Hills,
	We learned what impatience wills
	To women who fool around.
	If thievery has a voice to to sing
	It' s the choice and sound of moving hands
	Over social wedding rings.
	I said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out."