Bm       A             G
I wrote a thousand verses,
  G                      A                Bm
Each one about doctors and nurses.
On paper napkins in diners
and wrote the titles on matchsticks.

  G
Tucked them in the left breast pocket
        F#m
of a tattered silk check shirt
   Em                       D
And threw the shirt away
into the shadow of a corner
of a northern Spanish bar
without brass in the backline
but shutters on the doors
  F#m
and twenty, thirty people
     Em
in clusters on the floor,
 G                                  D
looking anywhere but at each other.

Between the runners of a busted wooden pier
before the beers with Tracy on the bottle.

        Bm              A              G
And I thought of you at the airport
                G                  A                   Bm
and I was still thinking of you on the plane.
And when the police took my passport
and wrote down my name -
I thought of you again.

I was doing press-ups in the hotel lobby;
The lobby with me was unimpressed.
I managed five, but I was barely alive,
when I rolled over to rest.

And I thought of all your illnesses
and your incredible strength
And I guess that it meant that I missed you.

And I though of all the little things that always made you tense
and I wished I was able to tell you that
I'd have learnt a thousand tricks to make them disappear
With whispers in the ear
and kisses.

And I though about your lips, your mouth, your smile, your laugh, your lips
your lips, your mouth, your smile, your laugh, your lips.

And I though of you in Sweden
Like I'd been thinking of you all over Spain.

And when the pissed up student girls teased me
with the sound of my own name -
I thought of you again.