She is trapped inside a month of gray,
and they take a little every day.
She is a victim of her own responses,
shackled to a heart that wants to settle, and then runs away.
It's a sin to be fading endlessly.
Yeah, but she's all right with me.
She is leaving on a walkaway.
She is leaving me in disarray.
In the absence of a place to be,
she stands there looking back at me,
hesitates, and then turns away.
She'll change so suddenly-- she's just like mercury.
Yeah, but she's all right with me.
Keep some sorrow in your hearts and minds
for the things that die before their time:
for the restlessly abandoned homes,
the tired and weary rambler's bones.
And stay beside me where I lie.
She's entwined in me-- crazy as can be.
Yeah, but she's all right with me.
She's all right-- she's all right with me.