Her charms belie a painful past Her throat is dry she lifts her glass Of whiskey rye Too fast To drink The last few drops roll down her cheek And she laughs And wipes her mouth for me For me Her looks should be in magazines Walking and talking like a movie queen Then there's that which she calls "not for me" And she knows The life that she let go for me Yeah she knows The life that she let go for me And her glass never said to me "i'll drink to that" No her glass never said to me "i'll drink to that" And she laughs and raises up her glass