Three o’clock in the morning.
Outside it is storming.
Phone lines are down…
Could not expect your call,
not that I did at all.
You have been off – away – so long!
While here it’s pouring,
I bet you are soaring.
I guarantee you’re living life out loud.
As I sit here,
Shedding another tear,
With just a question for this hood blind world.
Why am I just a Goodbye Girl…?
I consider it my practice.
The art of Farwell…
I never know if it’s mastered,
haven’t known anyone long enough to tell.
But the first,
in this drawn out chain,
of those I say goodbye to…
Is of course you – Could only be you.
While here it’s pouring,
I bet you are snoring.
I guarantee you have no plagues on your mind.
As I sit here,
Shedding another tear,
With just a dream in this hog-tied world.
That maybe one day,
I won’t be a Goodbye Girl…