Transatlantic Trauma 1966

Clyde

Hello there! Well everything's fine
I got your letter, did you get mine?
I'm pleased to hear you're working again
Up at six and to bed at ten
But oh, there's so many things I know
That I just can't write
Like how you feel in the night
(Wish I could)
The weather's bad, well that's nothing new
I hear the heat's on, now is that true?
I'm writing from Boston and Chad is uptight
I broke two strings on stage last night
But I don't really want to know about the London scene
That sort of chat just leaves me flat
I miss you so much, what more can I say
In two or three pages? I hate it this way
It's such an impossible strain
Corny old phrases repeated again
It's a game that we play
Well I must go, I really must fly
I'll send you some albums, at least I'll try
If ev'rything's cool, I'll see you quite soon
Maybe July or possibly June
But though I want you here, I know
That that might blow the dream
You see, I'm scared to pay the fare
Goodbye for now