He's a real nowhere man, Sitting in his nowhere land,
Making all his nowhere plans, for nobody.
When
I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a valentine,
Birthday greetings bottle of wine.
If I'd been out till quarter to three,
Would you lock the door,
Will
you still need me,
will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty four?
Let me take you down 'cause I'm going to
Strawberry Fields,
Where nothing is real, Nothing to get hung about,
Strawberry Fields forever.
(John Lennon)
Here's lookin at ya, kid.
Send me a postcard,
drop me a line,
Stating point of view.
Indicate
precisely what you mean to say,
Yours Sincerely, wasting away . . .
Send me mail
at 
.
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