I wanted to kiss you at Lake Lousie, it was calm, it was cool, it was still in the breeze. And I still think about waiting expectantly, and the look on your face when you said to me: "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I do. But..."
So we got in the car and drove back to Lake Claire, but you didn't say nothing the whole way there. Your brothers, and sisters, and husband were there. I waited to say, at the foor of the stairs: "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I do."
And I hope tonight that you're not fine, that you're looking back on better times and thinking of all the things I said to try and make you change your mind.
Well, I still go for walks around Chestermere Lake. Its been seventeen years, but my heart still aches. I just wanted to tell you that I'm still alone, and I hope that its you on the end of the phone, saying: "I love you, I love you, I love you, I made a mistake."
Track Name: Medicine Hat
We were driving at night. The Trans-Canada Highway was lit up for miles in the snow. I lit a smoke, and you rolled down the window, you said it gave you a headache (that was a line that you often used, but it always worked on me). I pulled to the side of the winding road so we could get some sleep, and I watched you snore while the snow started falling. Your phone started ringing - your husband was calling - but I let you sleep because you looked like you were dreaming. And that suited me, man. And then we got on the road back to Medicine Hat, back to the house where you grew up, and we parked in the driveway, cranked the heater, and turned the stereo up.
You said "I think I'm getting old", I said "I think you look better than ever, so lets keep driving. Any direction! And I won't spare you no affection in our beautiful new life. It won't be easy, leaving everything behind, but lets leave everything behind..."
Track Name: Canmore Hotel
I was in the honeymoon suite at the Canmore Hotel. I was drunk, I was dying of lonliness and looking like hell (it was seventeen years to the day since you'd turned me down). The locals were brawling, and the bar was emptying out. Did you get all those letters I sent? Are you thinking of me? Or did you hide them in drawers? Under cushions? In pockets? Up sleeves? The heater is broken, but at least I've got a TV.
Imagine we'd run away together and we'd made it this far. We'd get married for ninety-two dollars in Riverside Park. The three sisters would cry, and tie cans to the back of my car. And I'd be in the honeymoon suite and not back in the bar.
The next morning the weather was perfect, so I went for a drive through the mountains and past little homes with little kids playing outside. A wife, and a husband - a life that should have been mine.
Track Name: The Lakes of Alberta, Pt. I
You called me, and I didn't think.
You dyed your hair red in the sink while I did the dishes in the bathtub, and then you stood up and locked the door and spread yourself out on the floor. And twelve or thirteen minutes later, you said "I've always wanted to go to Lake Louise in the winter when its frozen" and I said, "it doesn't freeze". You made up names and wrote them down in the guestbook at somebody's wedding who we didn't even know. I always loved to watch you read in the bed amidst the cushions, with the book propped up against your knees. And I wanted to take you to Lake Louise. You'd leave your husband and we'd drive across the country...
Track Name: When I Get There
I'm driving down this god-forsaken highway again. I've got a letter on the dash, and a hundred miles left. I'm more than halfway there, and I don't need a map - I've still got the directions that you wrote on the back of your yearbook photograph. Do you remember that? It still makes me laugh. Soon I'll be parking in that old familiar driveway again, I wonder if you'll be at home. I should have called to let you know... I wonder if you've planted all of those flowers and bulbs that you said you were going to plant before the winter. I wonder if you still look the same, or if years of missing me have left their mark upon your face. But I won't love you any less if your long hair is grey from stress or if you can't squeeze into that dress - you know the one I mean.
And when I get there will you smile and greet me like an old friend, or act confused and just pretend that nothing ever happened?