The Grahams


She walks the halls in a white lace
A glass of Daddy's bourbon in her hand
Daddy's not around to drink it anyway
He's planted six feet under Alabama land

My brother wore the uniform
My mother waited out on the porch
My lover played that fluglehorn
Back when he was carrying the torch

She never listens to the radio
She listens to the music playing in her head
When there's a party she doesn't care to go
She stays at home and looks at pictures instead

One of her brother in the uniform
One of her mother out on the porch
Photo of her lover playing flugelhorn
Back when he was carrying the torch

Mama never liked his music anyway
Daddy never liked that St. Louis look
They sent him back by Greyhound way
With twenty-five bucks and the holy book

So now she sits alone and waits for nights
And sings a melody from days gone by
After thirty years it feels alright
No one left even wonders why

She lost that old uniform
She never sits out on the porch
But she's still got that flugelhorn
With no one left carrying the torch
No one left carrying the torch...

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