| That cold Chicago wind
|
| Was howling down the street
|
| The rain has turned to sleet
|
| If I decide to go
|
| It will commence to snow
|
| It’s overdue
|
| Twas on a night like this
|
| I blew in through your door
|
| I asked for kindness
|
| And you gave me that and more
|
| You tought me how to do
|
| The things that lovers do
|
| Like coming through
|
| And loving you
|
| I’ve got my banjo tuned
|
| But now I’ve lost the band
|
| I must have missed the turn
|
| I never learn it seems
|
| My music is my dreams
|
| Tis what I do
|
| They close the hall
|
| And put away the microphones
|
| I’m all alone and I’d lay scratching at the strings
|
| Then my banjo sings as banjoes often do
|
| I’m coming through, and loving you
|
| We heard John Lennon play
|
| He sang Norwegian Wood
|
| We thought he hung the moon
|
| The sunlight on your floor
|
| You didn’t work till four that afternoon
|
| You took a stranger to an unfamiliar shore
|
| Another country where he’d never been before
|
| You taught him how to do the things the lovers do
|
| Like coming through and loving you
|
| Like coming through and loving you |