Leave Luanne

Luanne's fat lip is drying,

The bastard's bacon frying,

The shiner on her eye's gone bust and bleeding.

He shouts, "Girl, set the table!"

But he knows she ain't able.

Her arm's done broke,

Hung limp like yolk,

And softly she's repeating...

"Leave, Luanne.

Why don't you march out that door?

Southern woman, he ain't no good to you.

Leave, Luanne.

Louisiana wants war,

But it's you dying on her ruby plains."

And yet, loyal Luanne remains.

Ever since he got him laid off,

His sanity's just made off.

No, he was never nice, but now he's cruel.

He rapes her, and he beats her,

She don't 'fess how he treats her,

'Cause a Bible verse

Says it won't get worse,

And she won't be a fool.

"You won't never leave, Luanne,

'Cause if you walk out that door

His truck will be gunning for you.

No, you won't leave, Luanne,

Or he'll give you 'What for?'

You got heart where you should have had brains."

And so, loyal Luanne remains.

Someone's howling,

Screams like sighing with battered breath

Grating, growling,

Never dying

In a fate worse than death.

But months of such conditions

Turn laymen to logicians

And tonight the bastard's sleeping like a log.

So she plucks the kitchen cleaver,

Creeps up toward his roped-up lab retriever,

And she cuts the rope,

And hope on hope,

She starts to shout

"Your dog's got out!"

She's got her chance.

With no back glance

She runs out to the bog,

Screaming, screaming:

"Leave, Luanne!"

"Leave, Luanne.

You've got a life left to live

In a house hanging off the Golden Coast!

Leave, Luanne.

You won't forget nor forgive, "

And she don't feel the stings, the rips, and scrapes

As finally Luanne escapes.

Swim, Luanne! Swim, Luanne!

And in the swamp of beeches,

Oh, as the preacher preaches,

As the light

In the night

Holds through the marsh and brushes

As the blood inside you rushes

Left and right,

Hold on tight——

Until you reach the bank

And you crawl onto the bank,

'Til you feel a little yank on your hair

And, stricken, stare at the bastard

Who beat you there.

The bastard lies in bed now,

Half-sad his wife is dead now.

She drowned herself in a swamp in wild despair.

He thinks he used to love her,

But push it came to shove her,

A wife disposed,

A wife case closed,

And no one seems to care,

To grieve Luanne.

Now no one's on his shoulder,

But his mattress don't feel colder,

And in fact, it's hellish hot, and the air is dank and steaming.

Yet his body starts to shiver

When the window cracks a sliver

And a fiery fog

From the miry bog

Pours in the room

In a sticky gloom

And there the man

Sees dead Luanne.

He's terrified,

But he keeps his pride,

'Cause he knows that he ain't dreaming.

And he starts screaming,

"Leave, Luanne.

Hell sent you back here for more,

'Cause ain't no one ever loved you.

But said Luanne,

"I've come to settle a score, "

And she shows him her feet are bound in chains.

And loyal Luanne remains

And remains

And remains

And remains!

Someone's howling,

Screams like sighing

With battered breath.

Grating, growling,

Never dying

In a fate worse than death.

Luanne,

She cries her miserable wail

So the bastards will never sleep again!

No, no reprieve, Luanne,

She brings their souls down to hell,

A caution to the cruelest of men:

God loves Luanne!

Praised be!

Amen!