Your love is a pawnshop
And everything in it is used:
A faded magazine rack, a worn pair of shoes,
A leather valise,
A bag of old, beaten blues
And that dress…
I bet it looks nice on you.
Let’s go for a dance in the back.
Let’s light those kerosene rags
And we’ll spin ‘round & ‘round the fire
Like the jukebox is playing our song.
Like it plays anything at all…
But the worn-out, second-hand men
Who walk into our lives to get turned out again
‘Cause Jesus won’t show with a redemption ticket
For any second-hand prayers when
Your love is a pawnshop.
Your love is a pawnshop
But everything in it is mine
I just traded it in to try to buy some time
For us to figure it out
—I know, it sounds wise—
But tell me now,
Is it gonna be alright?
Come on, come take me by the hand
And look me in the eye, make me understand,
‘Cause I’ll spin ‘round & ‘round the shop,
Trying to hide my doubt
When I see— If I see anything at all
But the worn-out, second hand women
I let into my life and let them out again
‘Cause Jesus don’t show up
With a six-pack and friends
For any second-hand liar who sings,
“your love is a pawnshop”
