Thursday, July 16, 2009

Dear Penny Lane,

In bed, sometimes, I'm apt to think of you.
The times we had, so young, so fun, so true.
But truth turns lie in so short a time,
And love and loss becomes our passionate crime,
And those three days of wine and cheese and grapes,
impromptu plot of glorious escape,
Seems now more like a tragic mistake,
two fools too lust-drunken to wake.
So dear, I wish I could have been your William,
But lo, all that I touch turns to bedlam.

With 20/20 hindsight,
Regretfully yours,

Russel Hammond

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