I walked to town wanted to give you a posy of roses,
it was late afternoon in June and the florist was shut.
The fuzz wouldn’t let me pick flowers in the park, so
I had two drinks in the bar, both of them for you,
since I don’t drink anymore.

Wrote you a card, but left it behind in a house of ill repute,
didn’t have enough money for a stamp.
It now decorates a sad wall which tries to fool the world
by being painted pink in a room where lust and disgust
intermingle! And thus my love for you ended.