Running through Red
(Mary McBride, Greg Beshers)
Look at her, running through red
Coulda been something but did nothing instead
Emptied her pockets onto the floor
Said that’s what I’m made of, not much more
Lines on the table took what she had
Morning comes early, can’t take it back
Too many people, not saying much
Talking all evening till they run out of luck
I know I’m not perfect, I’m always to blame
I wonder if I’ll ever stop playing that game
I tried to leave you, I tried to change
But I have to admit it I like things the same
Running, running through red
Running, can’t get ahead
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