Donald and Lydia - John Prine

Small town, bright lights, Saturday night

Pinballs and pool halls flashing their lights

Making change behind the counter in a penny arcade

Sat the fat girl daughter of Virginia and Ray

Lydia hid her thoughts like a cat

Behind her small eyes sunk deep in her fat

She read romance magazines up in her room

And felt just like Sunday on Saturday afternoon

But dreaming just comes natural

Like the first breath from a baby

Like sunshine feeding daisies

Like the love hidden deep in your heart

Bunk beds, shaved heads, Saturday night

A warehouse of strangers with sixty watt lights

Staring through the ceiling, just wanting to be

Lay one of too many, a young PFC:

There were spaces between Donald and whatever he said

Strangers had forced him to live in his head

He envisioned the details of romantic scenes

After midnight in the stillness of the barracks latrine

But dreaming just comes natural

Like the first breath from a baby

Like sunshine feeding daisies

Like the love hidden deep in your heart

Hot love, cold love, no love at all

A portrait of guilt is hung on the wall

Nothing is wrong, nothing is right

Donald and Lydia made love that night

They made love in the mountains, they made love in the streams

They made love in the valleys, they made love in their dreams

But when they were finished, there was nothing to say

'Cause mostly they made love from ten miles away

But dreaming just comes natural

Like the first breath from a baby

Like sunshine feeding daisies

Like the love hidden deep in your heart