There is a girl outside of Reno

There’s a girl outside of Reno, that’s the “largest little town,”
Where the slots are hot for suckers and the strippers are renowned.
The girl I met one Friday, when my plane came in too late
to be met by my old backer, who had left to get a steak.

She was waiting ‘round the airport and it was at least past three,
To pick up someone or other. And I could not let her be.
I suspect she was just friendly; these small town girls will talk
to any handsome stranger, even though it’s three o’clock.

So in fifteen minutes, no more, I would know her name and town,
And in half an hour extra I could have her falling down.
I have done it times unnumbered, way too many to recall .
Small town girls will soon come running to my side when once I call.

Now I know a saint, I am not, and I know a pimp or three,
And she would be no more different than girls that come to me
to salve their broken lives from the pains of loves and loss,
To repair the hurts, most fleeting, with a life of shame and cost.

No doubt it was the hour and no doubt it was fatigue.
I left the girl in Reno, with no lies and no intrigue.
Innocence protects some women, I suppose, and that is well
From the predators among us. I am one, the truth to tell.

It gives me pause that somewhere, when I am drunk or down
that some girl is still residing in a town outside of Town.
And she does not know what evil she was near enough to share,
And she does not know that Horror sat with her and stroked her hair.