The Suffering of Pepe O'Malley, Pt. III

Dear Madeline
I am a tightrope walker from Barceona, Spain
Sometimes I lose my balance, and you complain
But you’ll always be, you’ll always be my
Dear Madeline
If I afford the fare, can you meet me in London
With your Bible in Trafalgar Square?
'Cause when you left me here
My tears rolled by like taxis on Bloor Street
At 10 P.M. on a Friday night
Dear Emily
I am a gargoyle carver from Florence, Italy
Sometimes the chisel slips and I forget your malady
But you’ll always be, you’ll always be my
Dear Emily
If I afford the fare, can can you meet me in Dublin
With your compass and a smoke to spare?
There’s only boozehounds here
So I won’t be home for Christmas or New Year
But you’ll always be, you’ll always be my Dear Emily
She said, «I want to die in Vienna, listening to a moonlight sonata.»