In a room painted beige and blue
Some fifty-odd years ago
I'm lying here, recalling

Holding her tight at a fairground show
She blessed me with fire and candyfloss
And her sweet-salted lips

It never tasted like this
It never tasted like this


In a hollow tree of childhood games
Of hopes and promises missed
She promised me things

I never could understand
It was a pleasure and a privilege
Then as it is now

It was a pleasure and a privilege
But I'll guess you'll never know


On a visit on a whim
There was nobody home
Save an old lady


That didn't speak my language
So my scrawled note

Stayed in my tatty hand
"It was a pleasure
It was a privilege"


Too many letters don't get sent
Too many letters don't get read

There's too many letters that don't get sent
There's too many letters


Too many letters don't get sent
Too many letters don't get read
There's too many letters under my bed

There's too many letters

Too many letters don't get sent

Too many letters don't get read
There's too many letters that don't get sent
There's too many letters