A fistful of roses ain’t the best thing I could do   I called by the clothesline and the fish pond, called out for you   You want an urgent, bent-guitar string kind of man   And you built a bridge now for to find him, if you can      And Betsy, I see you now that you’re gone   Gone where I hate you, tell me I’m wrong   Wrong that I sent you over that bridge   And far from me now, although I don’t know how      Betsy, I miss you, can’t you see that I’m in pain?   Might you, if I promise, if I behave, come again?   Would you, if you came back, be beside me by the stairs?   We’re so far past the bridge now, though faded, I see you standing there