Song parody of
A Secret Reason
by Morris & Rivers
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She must have a reason
To brush against the frost
With a dirty sheepskin parka
Her tingling fingers crossed
The sun has just peeked over
The road to Middledell
The millside crusting waterfall
Is pouring down to hell
No one sees her leaving
Cept the kids at Johnston Prep
Building mangled snowmen
Casting cinders on the step
The metal shop is empty
There's no one there to meet
She must have a reason
That she's walking in the street
The Baxter Dairy payphone
Hasn't rung in years
Used only by the Laundromat
Or loggers buying beer
But on this icy morning
With no one there to tell
She's running toward the payphone
She hears the ringing bell
Oh the storefront windows glazing
On this village turning gray
All of my friends adventuring
In cities far away
Mama knows I'm needed
The bin is low on coal
I wish it was enough for me
To feast on glances I stole
The molded black receiver
Cradled to her cheek
A crackle voice upon the wire
She strains to hear it speak
She nods her head reluctantly
Says "yes" then "I don't know."
Her boots drip on the doormat
Caked with melting snow
She scribbles with a pencil
On an ad for pesticide
A single name and number
She's not going back inside.
No not going back inside
Not going back
She must have a reason
To brush against the frost
With a dirty sheepskin parka
Her tingling fingers crossed
The sun has just peeked over
The road to Middledell
The millside crusting waterfall
Is pouring down to hell
No one sees her leaving
Cept the kids at Johnston Prep
Building mangled snowmen
Casting cinders on the step
The metal shop is empty
There's no one there to meet
She must have a reason
That she's walking in the street
The Baxter Dairy payphone
Hasn't rung in years
Used only by the Laundromat
Or loggers buying beer
But on this icy morning
With no one there to tell
She's running toward the payphone
She hears the ringing bell
Oh the storefront windows glazing
On this village turning gray
All of my friends adventuring
In cities far away
Mama knows I'm needed
The bin is low on coal
I wish it was enough for me
To feast on glances I stole
The molded black receiver
Cradled to her cheek
A crackle voice upon the wire
She strains to hear it speak
She nods her head reluctantly
Says "yes" then "I don't know."
Her boots drip on the doormat
Caked with melting snow
She scribbles with a pencil
On an ad for pesticide
A single name and number
She's not going back inside.
No not going back inside
Not going back
