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
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