If it hadn’t been for love-
Boyd Crowder may not be walking the living plane arms and legs intact.
If it weren’t for the peroxide dabbed on his forehead after a night in the ditch-
There may be another corpse lying deep in the mine where nothing but cloth layers and cycle insects made palaces out of bones, bedding out of organs.
If it weren’t for the harsh words and the soft porch talk-
There would be no payment on that house, no lies in the drawers and no half drained bottles of bourbon.
If it weren’t for having to see her one last time-
She’d be a free woman.
If it hadn’t been for love-
There’d be a whole lot less of Boyd Crowder walking the streets
If it hadn’t been for love.
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