Fallen Women

(Tom T. Hall)



She reminds me some of a blue eyed doll

A strange look there in her eyes

Surprisingly quick with her movements

Like a woman who's learned to survive.



She empties the ashtrays and passes the booze

In a crude but professional style

And her facial contortions were painfully set

In a look that resembles the smile.



The small crowded bar roars loud its approval

Of some verbal blow that she's dealt

By telling a trucker from the Redball Express

To have intercourse with himself.



In my mind I can see her roam

The place where the woman lives

The rollers and the curlers and the old panty hose

And the ceiling that leeks like a sieve.



And there's pictures of Merle and Johnny

And June and Kennedy there with a flag

And a letter from home that she's read ten times

And an old blue traveling bag.



You know that man she loves, ah, he's puttin' her on

But no queen could ever love him more

And in her mind their ship will sail

To a hundred exotic shores.



Lord, she'll get no pity from me

No, she's tough and she wouldn't care

But life is made up of wishes and dreams

And she's had more than her share.



As I sit here and drink and look for a song

I think I just find me one

There's a difference in a fallen women

And the one who is still hangin' on...