Lucinda Williams

Hide your background, hide your fame
Hide your given middle name
Swallow your pride, swallow your pills
In your house up in the hills
Leave your husband, leave your wife
Keep on runnin' your whole life
Sweep your dirt under the rug
Fix your hurt with a little love
From the cradle to the grave
You will always be a slave
To the quiet darkness of your memories
And that's the truth my friend
The ugly truth my friend
I've got proof my friend
And that's the truth
Keep your secrets to yourself
Keep your paperbacks up on the shelf