| So, so, so
|
| So blissful (as I recall it)
|
| Way back in the early spring
|
| Of last year. |
| The change of seasons
|
| Had changed us and everything
|
| Around us. |
| We found ourselves in a crisis
|
| We thought we had it all
|
| Till late summers fall
|
| But all good things come to an end
|
| I abhor you for leading me down
|
| This trail of distrust
|
| I can’t turn around
|
| My little Miss Fortune
|
| Where have we gone wrong?
|
| This path of despair
|
| It cannot go on
|
| This harvest, we’re reaping
|
| What we’d sown
|
| As time waits for nothing
|
| The weeds grow
|
| Down lonesome road
|
| Slow, slow, slow
|
| To come to
|
| I lay here silent
|
| And think of the things which led
|
| Us up to the point where we saw
|
| No reason for joining hands
|
| No effort to mend our fences
|
| Was made. |
| It’s a shame we go along
|
| Just to get along
|
| But all good things come to an end
|
| I abhor you for leading me down
|
| This trail of distrust
|
| I can’t turn around
|
| My little Miss Fortune
|
| Where have we gone wrong?
|
| This path of despair
|
| It cannot go on
|
| This harvest, we’re reaping
|
| What we’d sown
|
| As time waits for nothing
|
| The weeds grow
|
| Down lonesome road
|
| Down lonesome road
|
| Down lonesome road
|
| All good things come to an end
|
| I abhor you for leading me down
|
| This trail of distrust
|
| I can’t turn around
|
| My little Miss Fortune
|
| Where have we gone wrong?
|
| This path of despair
|
| It cannot go on
|
| This harvest, we’re reaping
|
| What we’d sown
|
| As time waits for nothing
|
| The weeds grow
|
| Down lonesome road |