Gift You Tell Me That Silence Is

There Are No Letters In The Mailbox And There Are No Grapes Upon The Vine And There Are No Chocolates In Your Boxes Anymore And There Are No Diamonds In The Mine

It's Four In The Morning, The End Of December I'm Writing You Now Just To See If You're Better.

Journalists, Especially English Journalists, Were Very Cruel To Me. They Said I Only Knew Three Chords When I Knew Five!

Although Only One Man May Be Receiving The Favors Of A Woman, All Men In Her Presence Are Warmed.

And I'll Dance With You In Vienna, I'll Be Wearing A River's Disguise. The Hyacinth Wild On My Shoulder My Mouth On The Dew Of Your Thighs. And I'll Bury My Soul In A Scrapbook, With The Photographs There And The Moss. And I'll Yield To The Flood Of Your Beauty, My Cheap Violin And My Cross.