'Tisn't often I think of you these days But today on your birthday I miss the record of your voice With its one-track of complaining And your second-hand heart With its torn cover The closed collection of your feelings I waited ten minutes on the street of the clock Counting minute by minute Grudgingly, stuck upedly marching past me On high heels, on clock street The rain plays a tear-tune That calls for words And my throat choked with a cold There isn't a note in my head And oh my heart of the one tune With its athletic fingers Here we go again with the learning season I waited ten minutes on the street of the clock Counting minute by minute Grudgingly, stuck upedly marching past me On high heels, on clock street