"Press 1" genre: Folk
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	CD: The Suburb E.P.   Label: Fat Guy Rock
	Lyrics She said, "I'm still not sure exactly why I'm calling. I know you never answer the telephone. And I guess by now all my plants are dying. Your thumbs were never green, just stained with nicotine. And your hands were always cold. And I don't know why I feel like I should explain myself. Each bruise is worth at least a thousand words. But the worst part of it all is that I couldn't help but call to say tonight I won't be coming home. Tomorrow night I won't be coming home. One of the nurses on my floor said she could help me. said her sister runs this place somewhere upstate. She said if I go back to you next time you'll kill me- It's a home for battered wives. Is that what I've become? How could you do that to someone you said you loved? How can you do this, to someone you say you love? But I remember how it was before it started. You used to sing, You Are My Sunshine, to me. Then the whiskey got you mean, and you forgot how to sing. I can't remember when you started swinging. It was only every once in a while you'd start to swing. If you'd just give up the booze, and pick up the telephone, tomorrow I'd be coming home to you. Just pick up the telephone and tomorrow I'll be home, Tomorrow I'll be home with you.

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