Hey, Sugar, crawl in here with me. I shot out the lights before I said my prayers and I've got painter's tape over all the digital clock faces. It's darker'n an Oklahoma well and I'm scared to be by myself. You never know what I might do.
They never give Gene Autry the credit he deserves. I'll tell you this much: when my blue moon turns to gold again we'll shoot off some fireworks and I'll write your sweet name across the sky with sparklers.
I'm always promising to be good and I mean it when I say it. What am I supposed to do with all this love? Wake me up when this is over and tell me that you love me. You don't have to mean it.
False hope...better than none at all
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