Perhaps it's just April and all of the rain, but I don't have faith in May
and although she was around this morning, she wasn't here to stay
No, she left as quickly as she came. I barely caught a glimpse
At night I try, her sister and I, to forgive her selfishness
I wonder if she even knows that she's the only one I've got
and the song-less birds of this old town sure do miss her a lot
That a life without her is not exactly much of a life at all
and we would all be willing to take her back, if she would just give us a call
