Texty: River City Rebels. Keepsake Of Luck. I'm Here.

I'm here but I wish I was there
I'm here but I wish I was there

A single string that hangs, has got no purpose
Like a poet mute
It's like wool in July or mesh in March
The singer could sing the words he'd never say
A bottle of bleach without a single stain
Is one shot of death

The widow and her love lost is locked away
And shows no sign of turning that key
Honors memory for hopeful purity
She is here but she wishes she was there
In a wishing well believers believe to be in heaven

When second best if your first best
You say pucker those lips and powder your nose
Act like you love me til it's time to go
Put on your face for the world to see
Pour me some wine and I'll be feeling fine