| Holdin' on till the morning comes
|
| Holdin' a mug between two thumbs
|
| I’m gonna pay for this coffee with some awful nerves
|
| Writing the same old lines again
|
| Using a borrowed ball-point pen
|
| The poet mostly gets the poem he deserves
|
| But poems written with a borrowed pen
|
| Won’t bring you back to me again, oh darling
|
| I’m stuck here for the rest of my life, oh darling
|
| It’s so hard without you, day by day by day
|
| Thinking about the best of times
|
| Didn’t we hear the midnight chimes
|
| Didn’t we grow together; |
| didn’t we have it all
|
| Sometimes life can seem insane
|
| You woke up in a little pain
|
| Next thing the head-nurse wakes me with a midnight call
|
| And poems written with a borrowed pen
|
| Won’t bring you back to me again, oh darling
|
| I’m stuck here for the rest of my life, oh, darling
|
| It’s so hard without you, day by day by day
|
| A hundred times a day I do familiar things
|
| I start to read the paper and the telephone rings
|
| I listen for your footsteps, wondering who it can be
|
| Then the pain comes down like a blanket, there’s no
|
| -one here but me
|
| There’s no-one here but me
|
| Reading the papers through again
|
| Trouble for the president’s men
|
| Revolutions out there, shaking the old regimes
|
| Spilling coffee on the table top
|
| I know these tears have got to stop
|
| I know they see me as a man who lives in his dreams
|
| But poems written with a borrowed pen
|
| Won’t bring you back to me again, oh darling
|
| I’m stuck here for the rest of my life, oh, darling
|
| It’s so hard without you, day by day by day
|
| A hundred times a day I do familiar things
|
| I start to read the paper and the telephone rings
|
| I listen for your footsteps, wondering who it can be
|
| Then the pain comes down like a blanket, there’s no
|
| -one here but me
|
| There’s no-one here but me
|
| Holding on till the morning comes
|
| Holding a mug between two thumbs
|
| I’m gonna pay for this coffee with some awful nerves
|
| Writing the same old lines again
|
| Using a borrowed ball-point pen
|
| The poet mostly gets the poem he deserves
|
| But poems written with a borrowed pen
|
| Won’t bring you back to me again, oh darling
|
| I’m stuck here for the rest of my life, oh, darling
|
| It’s so hard without you, day by day by day
|
| It’s so hard without you, day by day by da |