Big brown eyes, and a gust of wind,
And the cherry burns the corner of the page that says "The end
Is coming soon," but not soon enough.
Restring all your guitars, pack up all your stuff.
'Cause if Robert's dad is right,
We might not make it through the night,
And I'd hate to go alone.
Please pick up the phone.
Well a box of red, and a pill or three,
If that phone don't ring one more time,
I'm gonna lose what's left of my mind.
You made a big impression for a girl of your size,
Now I can't get by without you and your big brown eyes.
Her hands are cold, her breath is warm,
She's a port in a storm.