When you think my pen has run out of ink,
Or the tip of my pencil has worn down to dull,
Or my notebook is full of ramblings and starts,
And I’ve lost all your pretty words and promises
In between the hours of time that separate us,
Remember that I still promise you the opposite;

That when my pen dies, I’ll refill it, and
When my pencil dulls, I’ll sharpen it and
If my notebooks grow full, I’ll buy us a new one
For all the stories we’ll write in our heads.