EMPTY WORDS

A Texas Cowgirl’s Tale of Broken Promises, Empty Bottles, and a Full Tank of Gas

Alan Nafzger (1982)

The supper sat upon the stove,
The biscuits had gone cold.
The clock was creeping past eleven,
And the coffee tasted old.

Your chair was sitting empty,
Like it had a thousand nights.
And there I sat, a-waiting,
By the kitchen’s lonely lights.

I’d cooked your favorite supper,
Made the gravy thick and brown.
But the only thing you cared about
Was some old bar in town.

You came home empty-handed,
With whiskey on your breath.
And told another story
That you’d nearly talked to death.

You said you’d had some trouble,
That your truck had broken down.
But funny how your pickup
Always broke down close to town.

You told me things were changing,
That tomorrow you’d be new.
But tomorrow had a habit
Of forgetting about you.

Now, I’m a Texas cowgirl,
And I’ve learned a thing or two.
I know the smell of fresh-cut hay,
And I know the smell of you.

I know when cattle need their feed,
When a storm is rolling in.
And I know when someone’s lying
By the shape of their foolish grin.

You’d promise me a better life,
A ranch with horses, too.
But every time the bills came due,
The money had left with you.

Your wallet was forever empty,
Your pockets never full.
But somehow you could always find
The cash to shoot some pool.

Your tab down at the tavern
Was the longest thing in town.
The bartender had bought a truck
With what you’d poured right down.

You’d tell me we’d be wealthy,
That someday we’d own land.
But you couldn’t keep a dollar
Long enough to warm your hand.

You promised me the moon one night,
Beneath the Texas sky.
But couldn’t pay the power bill,
And couldn’t tell me why.

So there we sat in darkness,
With the stars above our heads.
And I thought about the promises
That were lying there stone dead.

You said we’d take a holiday,
Go riding out west somewhere.
But the only trip we ever took
Was down to the county fair.

You said you’d build a lovely home,
With a porch and rocking chairs.
But the only thing you ever built
Was a mountain of repairs.

I patched the roof each summer,
I mended every gate.
And every time I needed help,
You’d tell me I should wait.

You’d say, “I’ll do it Sunday,”
Then Sunday came and went.
And every promise that you made
Was another one you spent.

Now, words can be a comfort,
And words can heal a heart.
But words that never turn to deeds
Will tear a home apart.

You were rich in conversation,
Had a fortune in advice.
You could talk a rattlesnake to sleep,
Or sell a preacher vice.

You had an explanation
For everything gone wrong.
And if excuses paid a mortgage,
We’d have owned that ranch all along.

You’d tell me that you loved me,
That I was your whole life.
But a man who spends his nights in bars
Ain’t spending them with his wife.

And every time I’d question you,
You’d put me in my place.
Saying, “Woman, you don’t understand,”
With that foolish-looking face.

You’d swear that things were different,
And this time you were sincere.
But I’d heard that same old promise
About a hundred times a year.

I used to count your kisses,
I used to count the days.
Then I started counting empty cans
And all your empty ways.

I counted all the lonely nights,
The bills that went unpaid.
And every foolish sacrifice
That loving you had made.

I’d wanted us to make it,
I’d wanted us to last.
But there’s no future in a marriage
That’s forever chasing past.

You see, an empty bottle
Can be filled another day.
But an empty heart gets weary
When the love keeps draining away.

And an empty pocket’s nothing
When two people share the load.
But one can’t pull a wagon
While the other blocks the road.

I’d seen enough of hard times,
I’d suffered through the drought.
But there’s a certain kind of emptiness
A woman can live without.

Then came that Friday evening,
The last straw, I suppose.
You stumbled through the doorway
With your shirt half out your clothes.

You said, “Now, honey, listen,
There’s a reason I was late.”
I said, “Before you tell me,
Let me try to speculate.”

“Your truck was out of gasoline,
Your boss was being mean.
Your cousin needed twenty bucks,
And your wallet disappeared between.

“The highway and the honky-tonk,
Where all your troubles end.
And the bartender, poor fellow,
Had to serve you as a friend.”

You stared at me in wonder,
Like I’d learned to read your mind.
But a lie that’s told a thousand times
Ain’t very hard to find.

You said, “You don’t believe me!”
I said, “Well, bless your heart.
I stopped believing somewhere
Near the very first false start.”

You told me I was heartless,
That I’d changed throughout the years.
But you hadn’t noticed all the nights
I’d spent alone in tears.

You said you needed breathing room,
Some freedom and some space.
I said, “Well, that’s a simple thing,
There’s plenty outside this place.”

You said I was unreasonable,
And didn’t understand.
I said, “You want an open range?
Well, here’s your chance, old man.”

I went into the bedroom,
And pulled my suitcase down.
The one I’d bought for all those trips
We never took out of town.

I packed my jeans and Sunday dress,
My boots and silver rings.
My mama’s quilt, my daddy’s Bible,
And a few important things.

I took our wedding photograph
And studied it a spell.
Two people smiling at a future
That hadn’t turned out well.

You looked so young and handsome,
And I was full of hope.
I never dreamed that loving you
Would feel like pulling rope.

I slipped the picture from its frame,
And laid it in a drawer.
I figured I’d been hanging on
To something there no more.

The frame stayed on the bedroom wall,
An empty square of gold.
A fitting little monument
To all the things you’d told.

You watched me pack my suitcase,
And asked me what I’d planned.
I said, “I’m taking my own advice,
And getting out of hand.”

You promised you’d stop drinking,
That you’d never tell a lie.
You promised you’d be faithful,
And I nearly asked you why.

Why now, when I was leaving?
Why not a year before?
Why did every promise matter
Only when I reached the door?

You said you’d give me everything,
The finest things in life.
I said, “I’d settle for a husband
Who remembered he had a wife.”

You offered me another chance,
Another brand-new start.
But I’d already used my chances
Trying to mend your empty heart.

You said, “Just give me one more day,
And I can make things right.”
I said, “You’ve had a thousand days.
I’m taking back tonight.”

I carried out my suitcase,
And put it in the truck.
The old dog jumped up beside me,
And I figured that was luck.

I checked the oil that morning,
Put air in every tire.
And filled the tank completely
At the station by McGuire’s.

For years we’d run on empty,
With the needle scraping red.
With every mile another promise
And another hope gone dead.

But now that gauge was pointing full,
And the engine sounded fine.
And for the first time in a long while,
The road ahead was mine.

You followed me out to the gate,
Still pleading for a chance.
And I remembered every time
I’d swallowed your song and dance.

You promised me a better life,
A house, a horse, a ring.
But when I added up the years,
You hadn’t brought a thing.

You said, “You’ll never find another
Who can love you like I do.”
I said, “That’s what I’m counting on,
And I surely hope it’s true.”

You said I’d end up lonely,
That I’d miss you every night.
I said, “I’ve practiced being lonely,
And I’ve gotten pretty bright.”

I’d learned to eat my supper
With an empty chair nearby.
I’d learned to pay the power bill,
And learned to wonder why.

I’d learned to fix the plumbing,
To mend a broken gate.
And learned that loving someone
Didn’t mean you had to wait.

You stood there in the driveway,
With your boots upon the ground.
And I noticed for the first time
There was nobody else around.

You’d have an empty kitchen,
An empty bedroom, too.
An empty space beside the bed
Where I once slept with you.

You’d have the empty bottles,
The empty promises you’d made.
And all those grand tomorrows
That had somehow gotten mislaid.

I pulled out through the gateway,
Past the windmill and the shed.
And watched the old ranch vanish
In the mirror overhead.

The fields were turning golden,
And the sky was growing wide.
And there wasn’t anybody
Telling me which way to drive.

I didn’t know my destination,
Didn’t have a grand design.
But the road was open before me,
And the choice was finally mine.

I stopped beside a diner
Where the coffee smelled just right.
And ordered me a supper
I could eat alone that night.

The waitress asked, “Just one, dear?”
I said, “That’s right, just me.”
And funny how a table for one
Can feel like liberty.

I watched the stars come shining
Through the window by my chair.
And for once, an empty place beside me
Didn’t mean somebody wasn’t there.

It meant I had some breathing room,
A chance to start anew.
Some peace that wasn’t borrowed
From a promise made by you.

Now, folks will say that leaving
Is the hardest thing to do.
But sometimes what’s much harder
Is the staying you go through.

You can’t live on a promise,
Can’t eat a sweet excuse.
And love that’s only spoken
Ain’t a love that’s much use.

A cowboy’s word ought to mean something,
It ought to carry weight.
It ought to stand through winter storms
And never show up late.

But yours were empty as the bottles
You kept scattered on the floor.
And after years of buying them,
I wasn’t buying anymore.

You promised me the heavens,
But couldn’t keep the lights.
You promised me forever,
But couldn’t give me nights.

You promised me the whole wide world,
And that we’d never part.
But all you ever gave me
Was an education in the heart.

And now the road is open,
And my future’s looking bright.
The moon is hanging over Texas,
And my headlights work tonight.

I’ve got a pocket full of money,
And a tank of gasoline.
I’ve got a heart that’s getting lighter
Than it’s been since seventeen.

I don’t need another promise,
Or a man to make me whole.
I’ve got both hands upon the wheel,
And I’m back in full control.

So keep your empty bottles,
Keep the lies you liked to tell.
Keep that empty picture frame,
And your favorite chair as well.

You always said we’d have it all,
But here’s what you forgot:
A woman needs more than empty words,
No matter how many you’ve got.

And there’s one last thing, dear cowboy,
That I’ll say before we’re through.
You spent our whole life full of yourself,
And there’s nothing I can do.

You started out with empty pockets,
And an empty promise or two.
Now you’ve got an empty house, old boy,
And nobody left but you.

But I reckon you ain’t empty-handed,
And I guess that makes things fair.
You always were so full of yourself,
And I made sure I left him there.