On that godless Friday night the sky poured filthy water.
A woman left the house, where lives a boy we know as Jack.
None exactly knew, how long these two have had been lovers.
It was you, who fled and caused a poor man's heart to crack.
Heard a woman say she saw you dashing down the road
barefoot in the rain, your dress was crumpled in a ball.
People talked behind your back. I swear they called you harlot.
Even then I still believed you're not a one to fall.
Who would've expected you to be the one,
who didn't hesitate to profane a sacred union?
At the Sunday sermon you sat beside your man
and all the town watched as you didn't take communion.
As I understand the one that you agreed to marry
is known to be a man, who's not exactly gentle.
He would take the hard way to make Jack learn to cherish
those little silent moments with a gun pressed to his temple.
The husband showed the boy around a room stacked up with coffins.
He made remarks suggesting that this could be his end.
He promised Jack he'll never ever see the girl again here.
Before the sundawn they were leaving never to return.
From a night of painful dreams Jack woke up on the main street.
The sun was going up and so he knew it's all too late.
He crawled out of the gutter and sat up on the sidewalk.
He pulled out his guitar and this is, what he played -
Written as she was coping with an auto-immune disease, the new EP from Rachel Angel offers hushed, silvery ’50s-style Americana. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 23, 2020
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