I guess I could have come on a little softer,
but that’s not really the Texas way.
I guess I thought it’d last a little longer than three cold nights
and half a day.
And I should have seen it, falling for a blues man.
Women, smoke and whiskey on your breath.
I should have known you’d break my heart then,
run me over and let me bleed to death.
And I’ll cry a little harder than I have to.
Cause crying’s always good for sympathy.
Guess I’ll pour myself a strong one, and see what’s on TV.
I should have married me a trucker,
hauling all those loads both day and night.
But no, I had to go and fall for another goddamned life-blood sucker.
Something in my head must not be right.
And I’ll cry a little harder than I have to,
cause crying’s always worked real good for me.
Guess I’ll write myself a lonesome-sounding country tune,
and maybe modulate the key.
I see you’re ready to put your shirt on.
Darling let me make this last request.
Instead of how you left me standing,
yearning like a fool,
run me over and let me bleed to death.