She hides in an attic concealed on a shelfnBehind volumes of literature based on herselfnAnd runs across the pages like some tiny elfnKnowing that it's hard to findnStuff way back in her mind,nWinds up spending all of her timenTrying to memorize every linennSweet Lorraine, ah, sweet Lorraine. nSweet lady of death wants me to dienSo she can come sit by my bedside and sighnAnd wipe away the tears from all my friends eyesnThen softly she will explainnJust exactly who was to blamenFor causing me to go insanenAnd finally blow out my brain,nSweet Lorraine, ah, sweet Lorraine. nnWell you know that it's a shame and a pitynYou were raised up in the citynAnd you never learned nothing 'bout country ways,nAh, 'bout country ways. nnThe joy of life she dresses in blacknWith celestial secrets engraved in her backnAnd her face keeps flashing that she's got the knack,nBut you know when you look into her eyesnAll she's learned she's had to memorizenAnd the only way you'll ever get her highnIs to let her do her thing and then watch you die,nSweet Lorraine, ah, sweet Lorraine. nnNow she's the one who gives us all those magical thingsnAnd reads us stories out of the I Ching,nThen she passes out a whole new basket of ringsnThat when you put on your handnMakes you one of the Angel BandnAnd gives you the power to be a man,nBut what it does for her you never quite understandnSweet Lorraine, ah, sweet Lorraine. nnWell you know that it's a shame and a pitynYou were raised up in the citynAnd you never learned nothing 'bout country ways,nOh 'bout country ways, oh 'bout country ways,nYeah, about country ways, oh, country ways ...nn