Written by Robert Nesta Marley
There you are, crying again
but your loveliness won't cover your shame.
There you are, you taking true love
and while you're taking true love, you given the blame.
How could I be so wrong?
To think that we could get along?
Days I wasted with you, child.
If I count there'll be a million or 2.
Now I stand alone through the memories
that haunts me, that haunt.
And I walk alone through the rhapsodies
that taunts me, that taunts me.