^CWe wrote our Dear John letters in the^Am same pen and ^Gbefore the ink was dry they were al^Cready stamped and sent ^Cyours to West Berlin and mine to ^AmKent and ^Gthey sat side by side until they ^Cwent

^CYour Sunday school script was packed in ^Amtight ^Gcareful and considered in the ^Cfaltering bathroom light ^Cmine in the spidery hand in which I still ^Amwrite ^GI thought of every line as a ^Cfuse ready to light

^FThey came back broken they came back ^Cbent and ^Fexpected us to be what they thought they’d ^Cleft and though we ^Gweren’t quite whole turned out we were ^Fall each other needed to grow^C old

^CThe thick skin on my back grew hard to ^Amcut I’m ^Gsure the words were sharp but they never ^Cstuck ^Cwe sat back pretty easy and we ^Amwatched the decades bend ^Ghome, bus stop, shop, bus stop and home ^Cagain

^FThey came back broken they came back ^Cbent and ^Fexpected us to be what they thought they’d ^Cleft and though we ^Gweren’t quite whole turned out we were ^Fall each other needed to grow^C old

^CNow my stiff limbs jerk across the station ^Amconcours like a ^Gwind up toy forced to ^Cwalk ^Cand you’ve been dead six years now though some^Amtimes it feels like more and I am ^Gold, I am ^Cold ^Cyou’ve been dead six years now though some^Amtimes it feels like more and I am ^Gold, I am ^Cold