She's been left on the shelf, but don't go think she's broken-hearted.
Although she lives by herself, she doesn't bother with tears.

In the morning she will fry the kipper, mash the tea,
Look through the window and wish that she had company.
But, nevertheless, she gets by on her own:
There's just one chair underneath the table.
She eats her breakfast alone
And she doesn't bother with tears.

People gossip and they say
That happiness is passing her by.
She's quite happy in her own small way,
Although she tends to sigh a little.

She's been left on the shelf, but don't go guessing she's broken-hearted.
Although she lives by herself, she's got no time for tears.

In the afternoon she walks in the park, looks at the trees,
Sniffs the lilies and she wishes she'd got company.
But, nevertheless, she gets by on her own:
Feeds the ducks from the same old paper bag.
She walks home alone,
And she doesn't bother with tears.

People gossip and they say
That happiness is passing her by (goodbye!).
She's quite happy in her own small way,
Although she tends to sigh a little.

She's been left on the shelf, but don't go reckon she's broken-hearted.
Although she lives by herself, she's got no need for tears.

In the evening she will watch her telly regularly,
Sip her Guinness and wish that she had company.
But, nevertheless, she gets by on her own:
Talks in her sleep to her hot-water bottle.
She, she wakes up alone,
But she doesn't bother with tears,
No need to bother with tears,
Why should she bother with tears?

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