Painting by Sergey Svetoslavskiy
You packed your bags and left, love,
Because we didn’t dream the same,
Because we didn’t dream enough, love,
And you felt I was to blame.
You left the love I gave you,
When you turned and closed the door,
In the folds of cotton bed sheets,
Tossed without care on the floor.
The sunlight falls the same, love
Through the boughs of the apple tree,
And the rose smells just as sweet, love,
These things will always be.
The blackbird sings his song, love,
The river runs to the sea,
The same as they ever did, love,
When you were here with me.