Crooked Teeth

There's a woman in an apron, standing in the kitchen

With bruises on her left arm, where the needle keeps missing

On a sunny Sunday morning, the whole town's closed

But when the sermon's over, they need somewhere else to go

So she works the counter, all by herself

Everyone's a Christian, 'till someone needs some help

But the coffee's hot, and the food is cheap

And her words sound sweet, coming through her Crooked Teeth

There's a boy at the counter, reading Mark Twain

He's got a switchblade in his pocket, he's not old enough to shave

He wants to grow up, but he doesn't know how

A boy becomes a man, when you need a man around

So now he's staring at omelet, that's steaming on his plate

And he's thinking 'bout time, like time was a mistake

To be a few years older, to be savior off the street

How easy it all could be, marry the girl with the Crooked Teeth

Now there's ice cubes melting, in his glass of Diet Coke

And she's counting up the loose change, 'fore she goes outside to smoke

He's wishing he could join her, in the cool morning air

He started smoking cigarettes, but he never (doesn't) inhale(s)

So she brings his check, just a little too soon

Then the 10:30 rush, gives way to the afternoon

She always says hello, but he knows they'll never meet

But she looks so sweet, smoke blowing through her Crooked Teeth