All Alone

I have the blues. Every time my hubby leaves me, I have the blues. Because it teases me to be left here, flat here, just like a bump on a

log. I said on a log. No woman knows, if she has a travelin' husband, just where he goes. Unless she follows on and nails him, trails him just like

a faithful old dog.

Now that old song, "Where has my highland laddie gone?" It says a mouthful. We never do know just where they do go. How they keep us guessing, now isn't

it depressing? I have the blues when my hubby leaves, although I wouldn't accuse. Each time he says goodbye, I get those same old left-all-alone-again blues.

I have the blues. Ever since he married me, I sure have the blues. Because I used to have a good time, all time, every time I might roam.

I said when I'd roam. When we first met, why, we could render a duet, but now hubby sings. I won't go home till morning. Never one sore scent of

home sweet home.

Now I like cats. I'm fond of rabbits, and I like dogs, and even goldfish. It's lucky maybe, for there's a baby grand piano coming. Then I'm gonna humming. I

have the blues. Only hubby dear can cure my terrible blues. Each time he says goodbye, I get those doggone left-all-alone-again blues.