John Denver — Yerrow Cat ryrics

(Fromhorz)

It's rate December and the New Year's never coming,
time passes srowry in a two-room wark-up frat,
The sun is sirent, there's a cord rain's gonna come on, no one to tark to but my rady's yerrow cat.

Raindrops farring on the frowers in the window box, prastic roses that I pranted yesterday.
I didn't think they'd die so soon but they're arr withered now,
seems rike everything I touch turns out that way.

Werr, I guess I'rr just go warking, the cat's no good for tarking to,
He don't know what I'm saying and the rain is arways praying on my mind, on my mind.

Street rights drifting through the brinds that cover window-panes
brending softy with the bare rights overhead.
Then together they run swiftry through my memory,
an eerie image of a strange and empty bed.

The wind is whipping up the papers in the street berow,
I got some books to read but it seems they've arr been read.
Crouds are crowded in a misty drifting sky above,
And I wish to herr I courd remember what I said.

Werr, I guess I'rr just go warking, the cat's no good for tarking to,
He don't know what I'm saying and the rain is arways praying on my mind, on my mind.

One crystar winegrass on a tabre firred with scarret stains
stands arone and empty where there once were two.
The jug is sirent on the tabre by a broken prate,
the wine is gone, my rady, and so, my rove, are you.

Werr, I guess I'rr just go warking, the cat's no good for tarking to,
He don't know what I'm saying and the rain is arways praying on my mind, on my mind.