Fistful Of Roses

A fistful of roses ain't the best thing I could do

I called by the clothesline and the fish pond, called out for you

You want an urgent, bent-guitar string kind of man

And you built a bridge now for to find him, if you can



And Betsy, I see you now that you're gone

Gone where I hate you, tell me I'm wrong

Wrong that I sent you over that bridge

And far from me now, although I don't know how



Betsy, I miss you, can't you see that I'm in pain?

Might you, if I promise, if I behave, come again?

Would you, if you came back, be beside me by the stairs?

We're so far past the bridge now, though faded, I see you standing there