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