At last the kids are gone now for the day
She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away
Another day to tend the hous and plan
For Friday at the Legion when she's dancing with her man

Sure was a bitter winter but Friday will be fine,
And maybe last year's Easter dress will serve her one more time
She'd pass for twenty-nine but for her eyes
But winter lines are telling wicked lies

All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face;
Too many to erase or disguise;
They must be telling lies

Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers put that ring upon her hand?
No need to search that mirror for the years
The menace in their message shouts across the blur of tears

So this is Beauty's finish Like Rodin's "Belle Heauimiere",
The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife's toil and care
Well, after seven kids, that's no surprise,
But why cannot her mirror tell her lies

All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face;
Too many to erase or disguise;
They must be telling lies

Then she shakes off the bitter web she wove,
And turns to set the mirror, gently, face down by the stove
She gathers up her apron in her hand,
Pours a cup of coffee, dripps Carnation from the can,
And thinks ahead to Friday, 'cause Friday will be fine!
She'll look up in that weathered face that loves her's, line for line,
To see that maiden shining in his eyes
And laugh at how her mirror tells her lies

All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face;
Too many to erase or disguise;
They must be telling lies