This is the road back to the port, old friend,
Follow it down, until you reach the sea.
I have drunk four bottles of wine tonight:
I already know who you are to me.
‘This must be the place’, you once said to her,
There is the window, that must be the wire.
Taking off your hat, you made the gesture,
Sang the song, about the bird and the choir.
Leave your junk for the wind to blow away:
Your candle and rose, your lonely letter.
I’m not ‘Leonard’ now, I’ve gone on my way;
Tell her she’s yours, if you really love her.
But rub out that heart, you scratched on my door,
Like some stranger who came, expecting more.
This is for your own works!!!
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