The Grifter

[Verse 1]
She had three chords she stole from an old blues record
And a vintage Martin guitar she couldn't tune
She bought a threadbare velvet vest in Denver
And memorized the phases of the moon
But her voice was thin as water in a drought year
And her fingers always stumbled on the frets
So she hung around the backroom at the cellar
Smelling of clove and cheap, sweet cigarettes
[Verse 2]
Then he walked in with dust upon his boot-heels
A quiet boy from somewhere up near Maine
He had songs that sounded like a heavy river
And words that fell like cold October rain
She watched him play and saw her ticket out of there
A silver vehicle to carry her on high
She bought him soup and laughed at all his stories
And looked into his young, believing eyes
[Chorus]
Oh, she wanted so badly to be the song
To have the spotlights holding her in place
To stand before the crowd and hear them weeping
With a borrowed sorrow painted on her face
But a grifter only knows the art of taking
And a singer has to give it all away
[Verse 3]
She sang his harmony and took the center microphone
She signed her name beside his on the page
She called herself his muse, his dark-eyed darling
And pushed him back a little from the stage
But when she sang his lines about the coal mines
It sounded like a parlor trick, so clean and hollow
The crowd could feel the draft inside her theater
A ghost they had no interest to follow
[Chorus]
Oh, she wanted so badly to be the song
To have the spotlights holding her in place
To stand before the crowd and hear them weeping
With a borrowed sorrow painted on her face
But a grifter only knows the art of taking
And a singer has to give it all away
[Bridge]
He woke up early in a cold-water flat
He saw his notebook sitting on her desk
With half his verses crossed out in her handwriting
And "Written by Marie" above the rest
He didn't scream, he didn't even wake her
Just packed his bag and walked out in the grey
Left her the Martin and the heavy silence
That she could never figure out how to play
[Outro]
Now she's singing to the tables at the corner
Strumming out of time, out of tune
Still wearing that velvet vest from Denver
Howling at a cold and quiet moon
[Fade Out]
[End]