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Clyde |
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Hello there! Well everything's fine |
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I got your letter, did you get mine? |
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I'm pleased to hear you're working again |
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Up at six and to bed at ten |
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But oh, there's so many things I know |
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That I just can't write |
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Like how you feel in the night |
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(Wish I could) |
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The weather's bad, well that's nothing new |
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I hear the heat's on, now is that true? |
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I'm writing from Boston and Chad is uptight |
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I broke two strings on stage last night |
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But I don't really want to know about the London scene |
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That sort of chat just leaves me flat |
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I miss you so much, what more can I say |
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In two or three pages? I hate it this way |
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It's such an impossible strain |
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Corny old phrases repeated again |
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It's a game that we play |
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Well I must go, I really must fly |
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I'll send you some albums, at least I'll try |
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If ev'rything's cool, I'll see you quite soon |
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Maybe July or possibly June |
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But though I want you here, I know |
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That that might blow the dream |
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You see, I'm scared to pay the fare |
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Goodbye for now |
