(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