So it's fairly well, my darling true, I'm leaving in the first of the morning. I'm bound off for the Bay of Mexico, or maybe the coast of California. So it's fairly well, my own true love, we'll meet another day, another time. It ain't the leaving that's grieving me, but my true love is bound to stay behind. Oh, the weather is against me, and the wind blows hard, and the rain, she's turning into hail. And I still might strike it lucky on a highway going west, but I'm traveling on a path beating trail. So it's fairly well, my own true love, we'll meet another day, another time. It ain't the leaving that's grieving me, but my true love is bound to stay behind. I will write you a letter from time to time. As I'm rambling, you can travel with me too. With my head, and my heart, and my hands, my love, I will send what I learned back home here. So it's fairly well, my own true love, we'll meet another day, another time. It ain't the leaving that's grieving me, but my true love is bound to stay behind. I will tell you of the laughter and of the troubles, be them somebody else's or my own. With my hands in my pockets, and my cold quarter high, I will travel unnoticed and unknown. So it's fairly well, my own true love, we'll meet another day, another time. It ain't the leaving that's grieving me, but my true love is bound to stay behind. It ain't the leaving that's grieving me, but my true love is bound to stay behind.