Mary - Michael Miller

Mary’s shooting blanks into the sand,

right behind the crooked line that I drew

with my hands a-trembling

This will be the last time that we end

And I don’t want to be here

when she comes crawling back again

I don’t want to be here

when she comes crawling

When she comes home

When she comes home

Mary stares the sun down with a grin

Seems like I’m the only one

that ever sees it happening

This will be the last time that we end

We say goodbye like butterflies

when caterpillars kiss goodbye

When she comes home

When she comes home