Hunterville

henry smith’s my name to you
a hand on the wheel, elbow on the sill
you probably wonder what i do
in hunterville

i packed up my van & i headed south
four thousand five hundred & ninety one to nil
she beat me, she broke me & sent me away
to hunterville

my wife is gone, she’ll never come back
cops & the barman must all think i’m ill
backwards & forwards i can’t get out
of hunterville

i wish i could touch her & hold her now
i wish i was married to her still
& she could be with me sitting here
in hunterville

thoughts going round & round in my head
i wish they would stop but i don’t think they will
& just like a gypsy i camp on the edge
of hunterville

in the telephone booth the phone there is ringing
chess pieces shuffle, if you’re not looking they will
is there no one here going to take that call
in hunterville?

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