Eleanor Rigby (Live at CitiField, NYC)

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice
In the church where her wedding has been,
Lives in a dream.
Waits at the window,
Wearing the face that she keeps
In a jar by the door,
Who is it for?

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Father Mackenzie, writing the words to a sermon
That no one will hear,
No one comes near.

Look at him working,
Darning his socks
In the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came.

Father Mackenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands
As he walks from the grave
No one was saved.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
(Ah, look at all the lonely people)
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
(Ah, look at all the lonely people)