From a mic stand on a milk crate
To a rhinestone Butterfield 8
Audition tapes play on
The house band plays behind her
A pinned-down "Teach Me Tiger"
The stage lights flicker on
The barkeep whispers treason
And lights a flame for April Stevens
And the Nino Tempo fanbase
As he defends and counts the reasons
The pavement shows on her skin
Like the distant sounds of Berlin
He's convinced to death that she'll fail
Still she paints her toenails red for him
We know you're cute, you told us
But we won't pretend to notice
She's the patron saint of porridge
Where the redline meets the orange
And the fireflies fill the floor
When our punkette leaves the opera
Like a blood-soaked Frank Sinatra
Still she knows what love is for
She marvels from the pay phone
How they always chase the same goal
They define themselves with fashion
And the empty things that they own
In this "look-at-me-now" nation
It's a one way conversation
A two-bit Porter Wagoner
Selling fame in combinations
We know you're cute, you told us
But we won't pretend to notice
From her apartment complex courtyard
The lifeless drumbeats hit hard
As the basement tapes play on
Just eight years from the lamppost
The daily bumps they hurt most
And the call-back days go on
From the pocket of her best coat
She's surprised to find a small note
A scrap of long forgotten vows
She wipes her tears and reads aloud:
"Were you brave enough to find it?
All those years you never minded.
If you searched your whole life for it,
Would you even recognize it?"
We know you're cute, you told us
But we won't pretend to notice