(Z. Muth) That old woman from Dove Creek Colorado, On her way to see her mom one more time Looking for an answer or some kind of cure For the loneliness she’d had in her heart all her life You left the hard part up to her, trying to put it all into words Measuring the miles behind her eyes Hopin’ she don’t turn to you, wondering where you’re running off to If she don’t ask no questions you won’t have to tell no lies Chorus: Annabelle, all the stories you tell Are about bus stations and trains And all the folks you will never know well You remember by the names of the places from where they came I listen like a child, as you recount the trials Of the strangers who are closer than your own kin You can leave your coat on, ‘cause I know it won’t be long Till you slip out the back door again Spending all your time in bars, trading smiles for stories of the war In truckstops and motels I know you can’t afford What would I ever do if I heard something happened to you Or worse, if I hear nothing at all? Chorus: Annabelle, all the stories you tell Are about bus stations and trains And all the folks you will never know well You remember by the names of the places from where they came I listen like a child, as you recount the trials Of the strangers who are closer than your own kin You can leave your coat on, ‘cause I know it won’t be long Till you slip out the back door again You’re one of a dying breed who only takes what they need And leaves the rest to the feast of the fools When someone else along the way asks you to stop and stay And tell them a story or two Tell them the one about this old man from Blue River, Arizona Who is tall and handsome in spite of his lazy eye Never found no gold on the trail of old Coronado Spent half of his life waiting on that quittin’ time whistle to blow Chorus: Annabelle, all the stories you tell Are about bus stations and trains And all the folks you will never know well You remember by the names of the places from where they came I listen like a child, as you recount the trials Of the strangers who are closer than your own kin You can leave your coat on, ‘cause I know it won’t be long Till you slip out the back door again
(Z. Muth) That old woman from Dove Creek Colorado, On her way to see her mom one more time Looking for an answer or some kind of cure For the loneliness she’d had in her heart all her life You left the hard part up to her, trying to put it all into words Measuring the miles behind her eyes Hopin’ she don’t turn to you, wondering where you’re running off to If she don’t ask no questions you won’t have to tell no lies Chorus: Annabelle, all the stories you tell Are about bus stations and trains And all the folks you will never know well You remember by the names of the places from where they came I listen like a child, as you recount the trials Of the strangers who are closer than your own kin You can leave your coat on, ‘cause I know it won’t be long Till you slip out the back door again Spending all your time in bars, trading smiles for stories of the war In truckstops and motels I know you can’t afford What would I ever do if I heard something happened to you Or worse, if I hear nothing at all? Chorus: Annabelle, all the stories you tell Are about bus stations and trains And all the folks you will never know well You remember by the names of the places from where they came I listen like a child, as you recount the trials Of the strangers who are closer than your own kin You can leave your coat on, ‘cause I know it won’t be long Till you slip out the back door again You’re one of a dying breed who only takes what they need And leaves the rest to the feast of the fools When someone else along the way asks you to stop and stay And tell them a story or two Tell them the one about this old man from Blue River, Arizona Who is tall and handsome in spite of his lazy eye Never found no gold on the trail of old Coronado Spent half of his life waiting on that quittin’ time whistle to blow Chorus: Annabelle, all the stories you tell Are about bus stations and trains And all the folks you will never know well You remember by the names of the places from where they came I listen like a child, as you recount the trials Of the strangers who are closer than your own kin You can leave your coat on, ‘cause I know it won’t be long Till you slip out the back door again
