I heard the front door closing softlyAs I awakened from my sleepWith the last touch of her lips, LordLike a whisper on my cheekAnd I cursed the sun for risingCause the worst, Lord, is yet to comeCause this morning she'll be leavingBut come sundown she'll be goneSee the lipstick on her pillowThat I placed beneath her headAnd the salt sheaves still feel warm, LordWhere she lay upon my bedAnd it hurts to know it's overFor the hurt, Lord, has just begunCause this morning she's just leavingBut come sundown she'll be gone
