| The grass is overgrowing on the garden rail
|
| And crickets call a chorus I remember. |
| well
|
| Calling me, that old familiar thunder. |
| Writing
|
| Letters I always meant to send you
|
| When every second feature showed Niagara Falls
|
| We were
|
| Sitting pretty, feeling twice as tall. |
| Making faces at the madman
|
| In the alleyway. |
| We laughed at every cowboy who stopped to
|
| Fill his glass
|
| Calling, Goodbye Laurelie, dirty town lullabye
|
| Goodbye Laurelie, goodbye
|
| Goodbye Laurelie, dirty town lullabye
|
| Goodbye Laurelie. |
| .
|
| When all the city papers say you’re doing well You’re
|
| Still a small town story that the neighbours tell When
|
| You smile and say hello to strangers You’re still the
|
| Foolish boy they all remember
|
| The crazy Jane I chased every other night. |
| Has
|
| Reappeared in white like a virgin bride. |
| I’m the
|
| Face in the comer of the photograph A wild man
|
| At the weddding, fixing his tie
|
| Calling, Goodbye Laurelie dirty town lullabye
|
| Goodbye Laurelie, goodbye
|
| Goodbye Laurelie, dirty town lullabye
|
| Goodbye Laurelie. |
| . |