it's 4 o'clock, left the bar left my phone, i would have called
but no one's home, but this ghost of fault I hate to call my own
but it's not yours, gloria.
bought and sold, high the low. abused when kept and then let go
it's a shame the names we claim we won't forget so soon grow cold
but not yours, gloria.
gloria, don't save the best for last
you swore you'd stay until the end, but the end came too fast
now i'm all left with is what grace of god i have
slowly so the bruises grow softly and without alarm
you take my arm and tell me these foolish dreams are the only things i know
ther'es no fooling you, gloria
gloria, don't save the best for last
you swore you'd stay until the end, but the end came too fast
now i'm all left with is what grace of god i have