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stranded here in Hartford Christmas Eve |
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the snow is falling on the planes |
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out on the t\runway as a man sings hallelujah |
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walking through the terminal, my ear against the phone |
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I leave a message 'hon, I'm sorry |
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kiss the boys |
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it's getting hard just getting home |
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there's a line in Hudson News |
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through the shirts and souveneirs |
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now I'm pushing through the fray |
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there on the shelf of magazines |
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like a beacon on the bay |
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is the smile of Rachael Ray |
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sitting in the bar with Marguerite |
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she weighs her pour and gives a wink |
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he mwerry christmas, sweetie pie |
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you're looking tired, what'll it be?' |
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and then she notices the recipe I'm reading and the smile of the chef |
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who looks as perfect as a new homecoming queen |
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Marguerite just taps the heels of her tired and swollen feet |
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she's a million miles away |
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where she can trade her sunken eyes |
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and her dirty strands of gray |
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for the smile of Rachael Ray |
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Rachael's gonna show us how it's done |
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in 30 minutes she'll be gone |
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Rachael never ages, never changes, never hints that anything |
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could've ever been wrong |
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pulling in the driveway 3AM, the kitchen lights left on again |
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I grab a beer and check the tree |
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but there's no presents underneath |
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and up the stairs a pair of empty little beds |
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and by the clock she left a note |
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said 'hon I'm sorry, but I think it's for the best' |
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and the snow is falling down by the blinking little lights |
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oh the joy of Christmas Day |
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now may the season keep you warm |
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may your memories never fade |
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like the smile of Rachael Ray |
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oh the smile of Rachael Ray |
