I wrote you a letter,
and then another letter,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a word.

So I wrote you a word,
and then another word,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a sentence.

So I wrote you a sentence,
and then another sentence,
and another, and another,
until I wrote you a letter.

I hope it finds you as I found you.

Yours truly,
Yours, truly.

On a Wednesday morning, clear and calm,
                     I went to Astor Place
and had a gypsy read my palm
                     or maybe just my face.

She said my heart was heavy
                     and my head was stuffed with lies.
But things like that weren't on my hand,
                     they hid behind my eyes.

The room is dull and dank and cold but at
least I have a hand to hold.