YELLOW HAIR – (J.Lowe/ Lowelife Music 2007)
The kids are washed and fed, and tucked up in their bed,
But a jukebox in my head plays records every broken heart has heard before.
Because their mother’s almost gone, to spend her night in song,
Red-lipped and big hair blond, she turns to me as she walks through the door,
She says I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t think that I don’t care,
And love me for my yellow hair.
Those curls weren’t always gold, she wasn’t always brass/brash and bold,
It was me if truth be told, up on that stage while she sat mousey-brown and bashful,
Am I wrong to rue the night, I pulled her into that spotlight,
Once that bug had bit its bite, she was bleached up like some bar-room queen from Nashville.
She said…
Twenty years just up and flew, and the kids they all did too,
I long since lost her to a blue-grass banjo-playing plumber’s mate from Birtley (Chertsey? Etc etc)
Then I passed a pub the other day, just as a band began to play,
I saw gold had turned to grey, but her voice was still complete enough to hurt me.
She sang….