She's a dime a dozen runaway.

Educated by the light of day.

But forget about stories of the fast lane,

She’d rather reach for a strong hand.



She met her baby on South Ave.

He was just as blown away to(o,)

be noticed by the county beauty queen

of corn or cows or something ordinary.



Local five and dime's no place to hide,

if she wants to shine this ‘little light of mine’.

Above on a hill, her silhouette sits by a street light.

Hands nervous and gripping tight,



Bags are packed, fake smiles attached,

the beauty of the world, seems all but detached.

I think to myself ‘I could use a bit of company,’

So, “Hey, honey, wanna share a ride with me?”