Sit-n on a table, in a lonely bar
Feet up on a chair, play-n, my guitar…,
Its Sunday night,
Got the whole, place…, to myself…,

I like the tune I’m work-n on, all the chords, sound so, true
But, something’s wrong, I can’t seem to find
The words, to fit, the song or rhyme…,
Damn, Honey, I’m, missing you…,

I hear a sound, thought, I was alone
Take a breath, then, I look around
Nothing there, guess, its just me
Just work-n on this song, sing-n it, out loud…,

She can make it snow, in the middle of July
She can tell you when, your preacher, lied
She can walk you off a mountain top
And before you fall…, turn, you into a cloud

Can’t seem to find the words for him
But, I find, plenty, of words for her
Perhaps, do you suppose,…
I’m really, writing, this song for her?

I’ve been living with her memory
Her love, follows me, everywhere…,
Even, when I sing at night
Her love, never, fades away

“Perhaps, I really, writing, this song for her”

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