Sitting in her 67' beetle
Parked in front of her parents house
Brick walls dressed in ivy and moss
Recalling her night
Reaching into her purse and pulls out a flask
It's just filled with water
What else did you suspect?
She's too much of a good girl for that
Wiping her face, she smears the glitter lining her eyes
It was accidental
She's looking into the rearview mirror to check her appearance
It was all just for show
These ripped up jeans
Cleavage in view
Hair disheveled from her pink hair brush
Not from the fingers of an illicit act
Broke the rules to get in
She wasn't having any fun
Strangers around her messily drunk
Wishing she was anyplace but here
Straight back to her car
Didn't say any goodbyes
Drove home in the night
This feels right
It's just not for her these kinds of things
Writing about dreams is a better extreme
Tomorrow she will go to the pool
This is her kind of cool
