Little Anne in city grey Chatting heels with the pavement With smile to rival sunbeam And thoughts so far away from him Anne does not like her name She wears black on the brightest day There's poetry on bathroom door Reminds her how and what to say Won't you come? Won't you come? Won't you come? Last November I fell down Someone stole all of my colour I wrote a diary smile or frown But it did not return my colour Quiet streets they were my fears For there's nothing there and nothing here Eyes ahead now boyo dear For Anne awaits to share your fears And now she comes Now she comes Now she comes