Allie, I’m reaching out, I’m reaching out.
Here, Allie, hold. Hold my sinful hand.
My darling, whose touch I cannot do without
Whose hurt look or absence I cannot stand
It’s four o’clock gloom, the roofs are getting wet.
The skies are as heavy as I sometimes feel
But the heat’s creaking on. So much more to come yet
Trust in the Lord to whom we appeal.
Sufficient money? Time to breathe? A running car?
They’re gonna be ours! They are, they are, they are!