She's got hair the color of cigarette ashes,
and I watch as it flies about her head, caught up in the laughter of the wind
and trying to dance in tune to the sweet music that is what she could've been
but it's off rhythm and a beat too late so instead it's just stuck there,
in the limbo of infinity air, fated to dance out of sync until the day after eternity,
and she'll be damned if it ever stops, ever decides that it's worth too much
because mama didn't raise no quitter, she raised a girl who's had to be a woman
from the first and last day that rain drop fell from the cloudy eyes of a baby,
maybe.

She's beautiful, you know.