Verse 1

Typoq dayn, no sixty-seven

You left your coat beside the door

The kettle cooled before the evening

And rain kept time against the floor

Verse 2

Typoq dayn, no sixty-seven

I found your note beneath the plate

Two crooked lines about the garden

And how the frost arrived too late

Chorus

Typoq dayn, no sixty-seven

Say it softly, let it pass

We were holding on to something

Like a hand pressed to the glass

Verse 3

Typoq dayn, no sixty-seven