She was all alone at half-past four|At an all-night small-town convenience store|When he walked in and locked the door behind him|She ducked down behind the counter|He said, ‘Get up, I know you're down there|I got a gun, just hold on, I'll find it'|He fumbled through the pockets of his faded denim jacket|Handed her a note and said, ‘You'd better do exactly what it says'|And she read, ‘Nobody love, and nobody gets hurt'|She looked at him with a nervous grin|She pointed to that word|He said, ‘What the hell? I can't spell|But you know what I meant'|She said, ‘Yeah, but that ain't what you said'|She said, ‘I don't think you wanna do this|Sounds to me like there's more to it'|He said, ‘Spare your views on my abusive childhood|'Cause the last time I saw my old man|Was in a photograph in our garbage can'|‘He never gave a damn, so tell me why I should|And you don't know the half of all the demons that I've battled|You ain't gonna save me with your mindless psychobabble|I'm damaged goods'|‘Nobody love, and nobody gets hurt'|And as he walked away in the pouring rain|She still could hear that word|He said, ‘What the hell? I can't spell|But you, know what I meant'|She said, ‘Yeah, but that ain't what you said'|She said, ‘Yeah, but that ain't what you said'|