She left a note on a dollar bill again I burned a hole in the state of Michigan But paper money always make change April, March and September The tender months help me to remember Weather and women can be so strange In God we Trust Salt turns to rust Ashes from Eden And bone into dust I had a river of good intentions And a garage full of great inventions But blew it all with a slip of my tongue On the road to the mountain I slipped as I stared in an empty fountain Climbed out the ladder but broke the last rung In God we Trust Salt turns to rust Ashes from Eden And bone into dust That which has been Is that which will be That which was done Is that which is done For there is nothing New under the Sun She left a note on a dollar bill again I burned a hole in the state of Michigan