(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