(Springfield)
He lifted her face up off the pillow and said, "Baby such is life"
And then he pushed his suitcase out through the door.
"It'll give 'em something to talk about."
The door slammed, left a scar.
She'd be damned she could see her in his car.
So much for marriage and the good, good wife
Well, maybe it's a fact of life.
But in Veronica's head the wheels were burning,
Turning out of frustration,
Veronica's bed mocked
every private thing she said to the bastard.
She dyed her hair black in the bathroom mirror
He'd liked it blonde on his wife.
An act of independence, a small victory.
Hey, it was something to shout about
Cause at night, she'd crack,
She'd feel his strong fingers raking down her back.
She'd wake up angry, but turned on like a light,
Yeah baby it's a fact of life.
But in Veronica's head the wheels were burning,
turning out of frustration,
Veronica said, she would never be the same.
No. But in Veronica's head, the fields were burning
Burning down the destruction.
She turns around, he's there,
confusing her with his promises,
and crying on the telephone.
She twists and she turns in circles,
with all of her strength, she breaks free.
She stumbles and she nearly falls.
But in Veronica's head the wheels were burning,
turning out of frustration.
Veronica said she would never be the same.
No. But in Veronica's head the fields were burning.
Burning down the destruction.
In Veronica's bed, she lies there listening late at night to her
heartbeat.
The wheels are turning.
And in Veronica's head the fields are burning.
The wheels are turning. The fields are burning.
