Lyrics

I met her in a run-down bar
That didn’t pretend to be more than it was
She strolled in, designer clothes
And her big city dreams
Almost a ghost

She said she was bored
With the music here
That her work would be played
By the New York Symphony
She’d take her high-brow art
Be part of the social elite
Just as soon as she could get out
Of small town Tennessee
And she spent her nights here
Waiting to leave

She’s the girl who doesn’t live in New York

I said I wished her every dream come true
And she asked me to join her outside for a smoke
In the light of the next door laundromat sign
She was as beautiful as the not-yet-real world she spoke

And for a second I was there with her
And our first words were not about cheap tasting beer
But of her elegant dress
And her opening piece
And she knew I wanted her as badly
As she wanted me
Just to believe
I turned to leave
From the…

I hope she made it

I hope you made it