It was four in the morning when my half-brother called crying telling me you were gone...
I didn't know what to do; I kept saying I was sorry, wondering if I should hang up the phone
He had told me you were sick at the hospital and it was bad so I wished and I wished you'd hang on
That's when I found out we were alike, we both loved Elvis, and so I started playing his song: Gone.
And each day I cried and each night I cried,
Wondering if maybe you had died
Because I thought my brother would be too sad
To tell me if anything went wrong.
And when the phone call came, I sat up in bed hoping that he had lied...
That's when I realized it was too late, too late to tell you I loved you,
Too late to tell you I cared...
Too late to tell you I wished that I was there.
