Allie, I’m reaching out, I’m reaching out. 

Here, Allie, hold. Hold my sinful hand.

My darling, whose touch I cannot do without

Whose hurt look or absence I cannot stand

It’s four o’clock gloom, the roofs are getting wet.

The skies are as heavy as I sometimes feel

But the heat’s creaking on. So much more to come yet

Trust in the Lord to whom we appeal.

Sufficient money? Time to breathe? A running car?

They’re gonna be ours! They are, they are, they are! 

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