Still,
i think of you, baby
and how i grew old with you then
and this summer, you'll call-maybe
and act as if we were old friends
you'd say, 'how are you, baby'
i'd say, 'it's raining in athens'
and to this day
i nurse the fever
that spoiled my poor heart
and i've mastered the art of dealing
slipping away without falling apart
so when this summer, you call-maybe
and ask how
i've been
i can be honest and answer plainly
'since november, it's been raining'