It’s true my friend,
She did leave again,
Though I did believe that
This time she would stay.
But I won’t regret,
Nor will I ever fret,
It’s only in
The game she plays.

And I just don’t
love her the same;
There’s not enough
To go around.
Though, when I
Hear her name
It’s such a
Lovely sound...

But she doesn’t care,
She only compares
Her field of daisies
With her field of hay;
And I’ll never know
What she’ll never show,
It’s only in
The game she plays.

And I just don’t
love her the same;
There’s not enough
To go around.
Though, when I
Hear her name
It’s such a
Lovely sound...

It’s two below
Here in Tupelo,
And I cannot feel
My fingers as they play;
But I can’t forget,
So maybe I’ll just sit
And think about
The game she plays.