In a room painted beige and blue   Some fifty-odd years ago   I'm lying here, recalling   Holding her tight at a fairground show   She blessed me with fire and candyfloss   And her sweet-salted lips   It never tasted like this   It never tasted like this      In a hollow tree of childhood games   Of hopes and promises missed   She promised me things   I never could understand   It was a pleasure and a privilege   Then as it is now   It was a pleasure and a privilege   But I'll guess you'll never know      On a visit on a whim   There was nobody home   Save an old lady   That didn't speak my language   So my scrawled note   Stayed in my tatty hand   "It was a pleasure   It was a privilege"      Too many letters don't get sent   Too many letters don't get read   There's too many letters that don't get sent   There's too many letters      Too many letters don't get sent   Too many letters don't get read   There's too many letters under my bed   There's too many letters      Too many letters don't get sent   Too many letters don't get read   There's too many letters that don't get sent   There's too many letters