(by George Jones)      I can hardly stand the sight of lipstick   on the cigarettes there in the ashtray.   Lying cold the way you left them,   but at least your lips caressed them   while you packed.   Or the lip print on a half-filled cup   of coffee that you poured   and didn't drink.   But at least you thought you wanted it   which is so much more than I can say for me.   REFRAIN   It's been a good year for the roses   Many blooms still linger there.   The lawn could stand another mowing   it's funny, I don't even care   But as you turned and walked away   As the door behind you closes   The only thing I thought to say   was what a good year for the roses   After three, four years of marriage   it's the first time that you haven't made the bed   I guess the reason we're not talking,   is there's so little left to say that we haven't said   While a million thoughts go racing through my mind   I guess I haven't said a word   From the bedroom, the familiar sound   of our one baby's crying goes unheard