I wrote to you if we could meet
In the park by the sycamore tree
(where we carved a heart of will,
Where we saw time stand still.
Where i saw the holy dove
 move in both me and you):

“if i give in to my sorrow here
Will you be there to dry my tears?
If i come with nothing, then,
Will you come with everything?
I really, really, really, want to see you there
By the sycamore tree…
If i see you there, my friend,
I might believe in love again”

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