Still,

I think of you, baby

And how i grew old with you then

And this summer, you'll call-maybe

And act as if we were old friends

You'd say, 'how are you, baby'

I'd say, 'it's raining in athens'

And to this day

I nurse the fever 

That spoiled my poor heart

And i've mastered the art of dealing

Slipping away without falling apart

So when this summer, you call-maybe

And ask how 

I've been 

I can be honest and answer plainly

'Since november, it's been raining'