Monday, November 06, 2006

You can tell the world,
you never was my girl,
You can burn my clothes
when I am gone.

You can tell your friends,
just what a fool I've been,
And laugh and joke about me on the phone.


And you can tell my arms,
go back into the farm,
You can tell my feet to hit the floor.
You can tell my lips,
or tell my fingertips,
They won't be reaching out for you no more.


Don't tell my heart,
my achy breaky heart,
I just don't think he'd understand.
'Cause if you tell my heart,
my achy breaky heart,
He might blow up and kill this man.