| I sit in the back seat of the car. |
| We are not going very far |
| Except three hundred miles away. |
| I will miss my friends who |
| used to come and play. |
| Oh, I really hate this sort of day, |
| I look in the back window, |
| Hearing the soft pitter-patter of the rain. |
| Goodbye, Clive Iowa. |