Gone

This gravestone is peaceful and quiet She pulls up a chair and sits right by it The air around is gentle and warm The rose-coloured wreath is tattered and torn Tiny blades of grass are peeking through Drawing life from sunshine and dew Remembering his eyes when she lied Knowing she lives, feeling she's died Where have all the good times gone? Where have all the good times gone? Where have all the good times gone, my child? So every night after sunshine You'll find her there alone in her shrine Two forms appearing ghostly in rain One red marble, the other blue pain Where have all the good times gone? Where have all the good times gone? Where have all the good times gone, my child? Where have all the good times gone? Where have all the good times gone? Where have all the good times gone, my child? Where have all the good times gone, my child?