SHE SITS ON THE TABLE

(Tom Paxton)





She sits on the table in a dress made of paper

Diplomas all over the wall

One university, one school of medicine

She's overwhelmed by it all

The nurse is all sympathy, voice of experience:

Let's have a look at that eye

It's going to look bad for a week, maybe more

Go on, darling, it's all right to cry



(CHORUS): How can I leave him, she is crying

What could I do, where would I go?

He didn't mean it, he will change someday

Oh, God, how he used to love me so



The doctor is busy, his manner professional

She finds she must look at the floor

He looks at her eye, at her ribs and her arm

And it seems every last inch is sore

The doctor is handsome, he smells of cologne

And his figure's athletically slim

He speaks disapprovingly: What did you do

To deserve such a beating from him?



(CHORUS)



The policeman is waiting outside in the corridor

He speaks to her as to a child

He's friends with her husband, he's angry with her

And he asks if there'll be charges filed

She says she's not sure, she needs time to recover

She feels beaten down in disgrace

The policeman asks isn't she secretly glad

For a man who'll keep her in her place



(CHORUS)

@feminist @abuse

Copyright Tom Paxton

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