| It’s been countless days, since last we wrote
|
| And countless more, since last we spoke
|
| But now that’s all that remains
|
| The letters that make up your name
|
| And I used to see every line that crossed
|
| Your face, but now the lines are lost
|
| In stories told and I’ve grown old
|
| Let me read again the letters that you sent
|
| Caroline wrote to me
|
| Every day of that July
|
| But now that’s all I have left
|
| Just thirty-one pages of Caroline
|
| I waited all that time for you
|
| To write me back, to write a new
|
| Verse of our love but it never came
|
| Just hoped my Caroline was safe
|
| And just as I had always feared
|
| Your precious words they disappeared
|
| In to my mind as I went blind
|
| Let me read again the letters that you sent
|
| Caroline wrote to me
|
| Every day of that July
|
| But now that’s all I have left
|
| Just thirty-one pages of Caroline
|
| To pick them up might cut my hands
|
| And blind me
|
| To pick them up might cut my hands
|
| And blind me
|
| Let me read again the letters that she sent |