she don t like roses she don t like champagne she took a step away from the fast lane she lives on jones road down by the freight train you met her on monday you were in love by tuesday night she lived in detroit she lived in boston she had a couple years there she got lost in she still gets shake y but not too often you take her in your arms when you want to calm her down and her bed is under her window and the sun s going down in the west and her voice whispers softly go real slow and you watch the rhythm of her breath she wants a tree house she wants a garden a little bit of land to put her hands in it smells like lavender in her apartment it s always on your clothes every time you re going home and her bed is under her window and her fingers brush over your chest with your heart beating fast you go real slow and you match the rhythm of her breath and if all your dreams come true do your memories still end up haunting you is there such a thing as really breaking through to another day and a brighter shade of blue and her bed is under her window and her arm s laying over your chest and the street light is soft on her pillow you can feel the rhythm of her breath she don t like roses she don t drink champagne and now you re walking home in the soft rain you pass the mailman you watch the lights change and you re feeling fine and you don t even mind the rain