By: David W. Clare 

The rain came and swept our time away 
Then, the day never came to dry my tears 
Now I fear I'll always be alone...

Her telephone rings off the wall 
No one's there to answer my call
The operator, she listens in...

She's moved on...

I walk in the dark, sleep on the floor
Drive by her house, knock on her door...

She's moved on...

The cat box still remains outside, that old rack of fire logs is dripping wet...

I bet she flew off to Spain in a witch hazel cloudy sky...

At least I tried, but now I see...

She's moved on...

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