My poor dear, I am so sorry
This to hear
I know you loved her
And know you’re wondering why she did go
Some morning bright and fair
She awoke and packed her bags
With all your money, all your treasure, all your gold
She gave no warning and left no sign
She gave no warning and left no sign
Oh my dear, you could’ve seen it coming
But you’re the loving type of soul.
And the loving type of soul can always spring back
Because it believes in hope and never forgets its dreams
You, my dear, must let her go
And be pleased that your last sight of her
Was head full of golden hair by the light of the Harvest Moon.
Don’t you go running after her, my dear
She’s a thousand years away from you by now
Drinking cold coffee in some shack like this
She’s not meant for you.
You’re just the loving type of soul.