|by C. Carson Parks|
One little whisper of cobweb, where the ceiling reaches the wall.
Lingering echo of footsteps; gone is the rug from the hall.
All of my shirts look deserted, wrinkling there on the floor.
Gone is the dresser that held them, and your robe is not back of the door
And the white walls are blinding me
And the white lights are blinding me
And the bare floors reminding me
That you're gone, gone, gone, gone
Only one toothbrush left hanging; no towel for wiping my tears
Pictures are gone from the mantle; they were taken in happier years
Here is the bottle of bourbon; jelly jar glass will do fine
Little tap water to cool me; oh, the mem'ries of happier times.
Somehow, the place looks so different, though it's empty as the day we moved in.
Just a few curtains and pillows; here's where our life would begin
But it wasn't the chair or the sofa, that go with you wherever you go
That made the world we lived in; it was the way that you filled the place so.
(Repeat chorus and sob a lot)
|© - 1972 Greenwood Music Co. - BMI|