(Brian Vander Ark)
another day of deflating your face into tears
I shook your mood with the game and a bottle of beer
the day I fell off of the wagon you threw up your hands in disgust
you would stay but there's just not
much of a call for a neighborhood cheerleader
who married the president living next door
whose honeymoon weekend was spent at your parents
back then you could get the best of me
I don't recall anyone placing a gun to our heads
we traded a trip 'round the world for a family instead
our friends were dispersing while you were still nursing our boy
and ever since there is just not
much of a call for a neighborhood cheerleader
who married the president living next door
whose first year of marriage was spent at your parents
I don't get there much anymore
The pet names that you once gave me, we had given the pets
I still come when you call them, just to be sure
not much of a call for a neighborhood cheerleader
or block party president mowing his lawn
whose cabinet is empty and mind's full of nicotine fits
God I can't make you love me
I don't have the strength anymore