Our Time. . I Traced Your Arms As You Laid Spread Out On The Sunday Paper. Looked Like The Crime Scene Of An Angel Ghost. I Heard The Gate Clatter To On The Elevator.
On With You. . Twenty Years And We're Still On The Beat. Stretchin' Out And Goin' For It. I Don't Know If These Ends Will Ever Meet. Thing With Love Is You Can't Store It.
Old Days. . I Was Sittin' In The Dressing Room With Brownie Mcgee. He Was Drinkin' That Milk With That Dewar's Whiskey. Said John, There's Nothin' Written Anywhere.