He's gone, he's gone.
She wears sad jeans torn at the waistband.
Her pretty face is stained with tears.
And in her right hand she clasps a letter;
I know this means that he has gone.
And in this town of mis-guided tourists,
she never thought she'd fall in love.
It was a few days after her birthday,
The thrill hostess gave her first kiss.
He said her skin smelled just like petals,
said stupid things he knew she'd like.
She said her life was like a motorway:
Dull, grey, and long 'til he came along.
He's gone, he's gone.
I said "How could he ever leave you?
You two were good, you were so right."
She said "I wish that he just left me;
He'd be alive, alive tonight."
He's gone, he's gone.
He's gone, he's gone.
He's gone, he's gone.
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