The end?

She didn’t have no money,
No home to call her own,
No loved one to speak to,
On the other end of the phone.

But she had dreams... yeah,
Dreams that told her why,
Her life was too great to waste,
On tears and dried rye.

That’s the place to go,
The greenest there’s to be,
Rivers of milk n’ honey,
Flowing into a great blue sea.

So she packed her bags one day,
Figuratively, (of course) — coz she had none,
Then walked, a step at a time,
Slowly into the setting sun.

This is her story; not mine,
On what happened next I have but a worm’s clue,
Maybe she died, maybe she lived,
Maybe she became Mrs Gates - oh, wish I knew...