Over the hills, the sun starts to rise,
and in my heart, all hope surely dies,
I love you little angel, but you're gone for good,
so I'm moving on, as you said I should.
Her hair isn't perfect. Her lips aren't sweet.
She's not the most beautiful girl, I ever did meet.
But the scars on my aback, from her well maintained nails,
feel like old times, and so my heart sails.
and I wish, that you were the one,
but oh well for now, I'll just have some fun.