Goodbye, so long, I love you,
was the last word she spoke
Then she left for California,
in a van, as a cloud of smoke
With a suitcase full of blue jeans
And a strong desire for change
And a sight in her window
That said home on the range
She'll meet saints,
she'll meet sinners
There'll be losers,
there'll be winners
There'll be more than she can count
In between, you know what I mean
She'll make friends,
she'll make lovers
There'll be those, there'll be others
But there'll never be a fool like me
Who will love her till the end
I know she's never been happy,
I'm afraid she'll never be
Though she's so much
younger than I am,
she'll wind up older than me
So Lord, if you will keep an eye out
for the things her eyes can't see
And if she gets into trouble,
send her home to me
Cause she'll meet saints
and she'll meet sinners
There'll be losers,
there'll be winners
There'll be more than she can count
In between, you know what I mean
She'll make friends,
she'll make lovers
There'll be those, there'll be others
But there'll never be a fool like me
Who will love her till the end
She'll make friends,
and she'll make lovers
There'll be those, there'll be others
And there'll never be a fool like me
And I'll love her till the end