She is not coming home...
I won’t believe she is not coming home…
Waking up every morning beside me will be my bliss…
Now and then your voice speaks softly into my ears… ...
We're hiking along at a two-forty pace
We 're making life seem like a man-killing race,
With our nerves all on edge and our jaws firmly set
We go rushing along; with our brows lined with sweat
And our cheeks pale and drawn every minute we dash,
And the goal that we 're after is merely more cash.
We 're out for the money, the greenbacks and gold,
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