Lord I would rather be alone. I press my fingers to the wood To tell you of my dreaming. To sing you songs from olden time to keep the lovelight gleaming. 'Cause there's a place where we can go Where we will not be parted. And who alone will enter there? Only the brokenhearted. Only the broken, brokenhearted. Only the broken, brokenhearted. Only the broken, brokenhearted. Only the broken, brokenhearted. Only the broken, brokenhearted. ***** `&' ********************************************* (chordiearchive.chordie.com)