Like a Motorway Saint Etienne
He's [G]gone,
he's [A]gone.
[A]She wears sad jeans
torn at the w[D]aistband.
Her pretty [A]face
is stained with [Bm]tears.
And in her [G]right hand
she clasps a [Em]letter;
I know [Bm]this means[G]
that he [A]has gone.
And in this town / of mis-guided tourists, / she never thought / she'd fall in love. / It was a few days / after her birthday, / The thrill hostess / gave her first kiss. /
He said her skin / smelled just like petals, / said stupid things / he knew she'd like. / She said her life / was like a motorway: / Dull, grey, and long / 'til he came along. /
He's gone, / he's gone. /
I said "How could / he ever leave you? / You two were good, / you were so right." / She said "I wish / that he just left me; / He'd be alive, / alive tonight." /
He's gone, / he's gone. / He's gone, / he's gone. / He's gone, / he's gone.
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