Well my line comes down from a Northwest town suffocating in the lowland firs. Ma worked the burn unit up at St. Raphael's and came home to call the old man "sir." Well I swore on those holy pines I'd never end up like her. So I scraped up the cash and I jetted out fast, hit the restaurant raids in the South. I took sad counter boys to my bed every night, taught 'em what mercy was all about. And I'd cross myself with relief every time they walked out. Yeah, but Cal was an angel with jet-black bangs, just moaning on a one-foot stage. I dragged him to the fields where the vans stall out and got him ribcage to ribcage. And in the heat of the hardest promises, we set those fields ablaze. And the stars fell dim, and his scorch was soothing, and with a sigh and a shudder I let him in. Well the weeks rained down and I got lost in the sound of my black-haired angel's song. We'd dance in his kitchen, nod off on my porch, light the candles and kiss till dawn. But I could never stomach something that sweet for too long. Now it's girls' night out and the dance floor's soaked with shadows at the Lazy Star. Some Romeo clocks me. He's as pretty as sin leaning over me at the bar. Sometimes all it takes is a story, a smile and a decent scar. And he strokes my wrist as I bite my lip, and the room and the lights and the bottles all start to drift. Grab my phone buzzing off my hip. Cal's asking me if I'm okay. Romeo's warm and closing in, and I can hear my Mama say: "You better bring him some water, girl, or let him burn away."