Lincoln Park Inn

This song was written by Nashville's storyteller, Tom T. Hall.  It's one of my all-time favorites.  It came up on my Ipod while I was mopping the kitchen, and as many times as I've heard this song over the course of more than forty years, it still blows me away.  A mini-soap opera in a song.

My name's in the paper where I took the boy scouts to hike;
My hands are all dirty from working on my little boy's bike.
The preacher came by and I talked for a minute with him;
My wife's in the kitchen and Margie's at the Lincoln Park Inn.
And I know why she's there cause I've been there before,
But I made a promise that I wouldn't cheat anymore.
I try to ignore it but I know she's in there, my friend:
My mind's on a number and Margie's at the Lincoln Park Inn

Next Sunday it's my turn to speak to the young people's class,
And they expect answers to all of the questions they ask.
What would they say if I spoke on a modern day sin
And all of the Margies at all of the Lincoln Park Inns?
The bike is all fixed and my little boy is in bed asleep;
His little old puppy is curled in a ball at my feet.
My wife's baking cookies to feed to the Bridge Club again.
I'm almost out of cigarettes and Margie's at the Lincoln Park Inn
(And I know why she's there)