(Lennon/McCartney)
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Ah, look at all the lonely people. Ah, look at all the lonely people.
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Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been, lives in a dream.
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Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for?
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All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
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All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
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Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear, no one comes near.
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Look at him working. Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there,
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what does he care?
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All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
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All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
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Ah, look at all the lonely people. Ah, look at all the lonely people.
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Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name, nobody came.
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Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave, no one was saved.
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All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
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All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
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Ah, look at all the lonely people. Ah, look at all the lonely people.
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Eleanor Rigby
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| John Denver |
