Canmore Hotel

I was in the honeymoon suite at the Canmore Hotel
I was drunk, I was dying of loneliness, looking like hell
It was seventeen years to the day since you'd turned me down
And the locals were brawling
The bar was emptying out

Did you get all the letters I sent?
Are you thinking of me?
Did you hide them in drawers?
Under cushions?
In pockets?
Up sleeves?
Well, the heater is broken, but at least I've got a TV

Imagine we'd run away together
And we'd made it this far
We'd get married for ninety-two dollars
In Riverside Park
The three sisters would cry
And tie cans to the back of my car
And I'd be in the honeymoon suite
And not back in the bar

The next morning, the weather was perfect
So I went for a drive
Through the mountains and past little homes
Little kids playing outside
A wife, and a husband
A life that should have been mine