|
From South Carolina |
|
To San Francisco |
|
I'm always waiting here |
|
Outside of this door |
|
I hope that my key fits |
|
I hope that this lock clicks |
|
Because I'll find you standing there |
|
With your dyed black hair |
|
We'll put that old record on |
|
And dance to your favorite song |
|
The one that I wish I made |
|
But wouldn't ever play |
|
Because of the war in me |
|
That killed my self-esteem |
|
But somehow when I'm with you |
|
My state of mind improves |
|
And I won't need that medicine |
|
To concentrate again |
|
And I know it isn't fair |
|
To expect you to care |
|
For someone who won't get well |
|
I think we can both tell |
|
That this the final night |
|
To get this goodbye right |
|
So I hope that when I leave |
|
You will still think of me |
|
Not as I am today |
|
But as someone you wanted to stay |
|
From South Carolina... |
