From the recording Naked Under All These Clothes
Written by Jason Moon
Mrs. May was driving, drinking a beer, doing 65 oh yeah.
Rolling down that highway, listening to James Taylor's: “Sweet Baby James.”
Oh, it was snowing down some icy night; sickles hanging of the front of the car.
Street signs flashing in her eyes, what kind of person wishes on a falling star?
Oh Mrs. May did you have to hit that tree?
Oh Mrs. May you didn't have to die.
Well I went to her funeral the other day, and there was lots of friendly people there.
One guy was talking about running for office; the other one said he'd never met her anywhere.
Trying not to cry, standing with a tear in my eye, wishing I could kiss her one last time before she died.
But it’s too late, and we were born too soon, life is shit, and who cares anyway.
Well I know I shouldn't think about it anymore, what's the use, you say she’s gone for good.
Memories fade my mind, Saturday morning cartoons used to tape them, watch them in the afternoon.
Chasing each other around the shopping mall, shooting basketball on a summer's eve day.
We never had much money babe, but what we had was so much more.
Now I don't really believe in god, but I still think she’s somewhere in heaven.
She’s probably complaining about the weather or something like that.
I don't know if I'll ever see her again, she didn't believe in reincarnation or infinity.
She always liked to listen to me play my guitar, spend all my money, and drive her car.
© Full Moon Music 1996