| What is there to write? |
| What is there to say?
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| Same things happen everyday, not a thing to write, not a thing to say
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| So I take my pen in hand and start the same old way
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| Dear, I thought I’d drop a line, the weather’s cool, the folks are fine
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| I’m in bed each night at nine, P. S. I love you
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| Yesterday we had some rain, but all in all, I can’t complain
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| Was it just beyond the train, P. S. I love you
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| Write to the Browns just as soon as you’re able
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| They came around to call, and I burned a hole in the dining room table
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| And let me see, I guess that’s all
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| Nothing else for me to say, and so I’ll close but by the way
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| Everybody’s thinking of you, P. S. I love you
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| I do my best to obey all your wishes, I put a sign up «Think»
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| But I gotta buy us a new set of dishes, or wash the ones that are piled in the
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| sink
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| Nothing else to tell you dear, except each day seems like a year
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| Every night I’m dreaming of you, P. S. I love you |