You left on a train On the morning of October "Won't you bu*ton up your coat?" I said "It's cold out here" Who was I to think There could ever be a future You a**ured me once It was all I could bear As I waited on the corner The telephone booth, I recall You wrote of tragedies On a letter stained with your tears "I will never be the same" I said "To me, you will" In the evening I remained Still unsettled on the corner Would your voice return to me At the end of this wire? Or will we always be this lonely?