http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUDDupvN9Dw
Late on a Friday my husband went up to the mountains with three friends,
They took provisions and bottles of bourbon to last them all through the weekend.
One hundred miles they drove just to fish in a stream,
And there's so much water so close to home.
When they arrived it was cold and dark; they set up their camp quickly,
Warmed up with whisky they walked to the river where the water flowed past darkly.
In the moonlight they saw the body of a young girl floating face down,
And there's so much water so close to home.
When he hold me now I'm pretending,
I feel like I'm frozen inside,
And behind my eyes, my daily disguise
Everything's turning to white.
It was too hard to tell how long she'd been dead, the river was that close to freezing,
But one thing for sure, the girl hadn't died very well to judge from the bruising,
They stood there above her all thinking the same thoughts at the same time,
There's so much water so close to home.
They carried her downstream from their fishing; between two rocks they gently wedged her.
After all they'd come so far, it was late,
And the girl would keep; she was going nowhere.
They stayed up there fishing for two days,
They reported it on Sunday when they came back down.
There's so much water so close to home,
When he holds me now I'm pretending,
I feel like I'm frozen inside,
And behind my eyes, my daily disguise,
Everything's turning to white.
The newspapers said that the girl had been strangled to death and also molested.
On the day of the funeral the radio reported that a young man had been arrested.
I went to the service a stranger; I drove past the lake out of town,
There's so much water so close to home.
When he holds me now I'm pretending,
I feel like I'm frozen inside,
And behind my eyes, my daily disguise,
Everything's turning to white.
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