Lletres:
Isolation Years

There's a sense of longing in me As I read Rosemary's letter Her writing's honest Can't forget the years she's lost In isolation She talks about her

There's a sense of longing in me As I read Rosemary's letter Her writing's honest Can't forget the years she's lost In isolation She talks about her

There's a sense of longing in me As I read Rosemary's letter Her writing's honest Can't forget the years she's lost In isolation She talks about her

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Sane, sane, they're all insane The fireman's blind, the conductor's lame A Cincinatti jacket and a sack luck dame Hanging out the window with a bottle

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Hang on st. christopher through the smoke and the oil Buckle down the rumble seat let the radiator boil got an overhead downshift and a two dollar grill

She's my only true love she's all that I think of look here in my wallet that's her She grew up on a farm there there's a place on my arm where I've written

No shadow No stars No moon No care November It only believes In a pile of dead leaves And a moon That's the color of bone No prayers for November To