Penelope

Am leaving without you, tired of having no clue, by these desperate ruins, chew pasta think of home, don’t know what to do, with such ungratedul souls, this friend of yours Rupert, my Italian friend brings news, says he really isn’t true, resists temptation to 'phone, but must have some revenue, he doesn't work alone, since our time at Corfu we’ve had to face the truth, love only makes one drool, we won't beat our bones, but i'm telling you, men bring us little soul, least of all Billy Blue.