Tell me real tell me true. Tell me more about door number two. Do me red do me blue. What goes on behind door number two?. . Betsy Button — she just got old.
If I had one call to make. I would dial yesterday. And warn myself. Tell my lips the words to say. And not let you just walk away. With someone else. With someone else.
On a postcard by a glass of wine. In a small cafe just outside of Paris. By a rope swing danglin in the breeze. Carved in the bark of a dogwood tree in Kansas.
I was just about to tell You. What I'm sure You already know. How my throat is tight with crying. Yet my soul is arctic blue. . 'Cause I've seen some tears that didn't move me.