"Letter to John Pace Seavering from Denis McCleary
Dated 12 June 1936"
Dear John
Yes, I'm writing
After all this time
How's the publishing game these days?
I know you probably don't want to hear
From an old has-been like me
But there's some news to share about Rosamund's
How should I say?
Hard-to-treat conditions
She's been under the care
Of Highland Psychiatric
It's the third time she's there
A psychiatric hat trick
A mental hospital
Nevertheless, the doctors have been encouraged
By her progress
And think that a few days back home
In what they call a "family atmosphere"
Might hasten her recovery even more
Oh, you're writing
Just a letter
Want a brandy?
I've already had four
And it's going alright
We are speaking softly
I'll pour one for me
But she's grown so thin
Her eyes look within
And they don't always recognize me
I'll say one wrong word
And the horse is spurred
And, well, stitches have been sewn
This business of my being on the wagon
Doesn't help much either
I've strictly limited my intake to white wine with lunch
Red wine with dinner
And cognac before bed
But it's not helping me hack out any stories
Because all I seem able to do is remember
Do you know what I keep thinking of, John?
The first day of April 1919
The first day of April 1919
You've probably forgotten all about it
You had just moved in
To that office suite
Where the manuscripts filled up the floor
You had worlds to win
There'd be no retreat
And that's when I burst through your door
You could change men's lives
And mine needed change
And I begged you to give me the nod
A man's fate arrives
If it's at close range
And he reaches out for it from God
And at first you said "No"
But then you said "Yes"
I got married and moneyed
The book went to press
That novel made both our careers
After all these years
The Violet Hour
The Violet Hour
Rose?
"Editor's note: Here there's a gap in the page
And when the letter resumes
The handwriting becomes jagged
And indecipherable in places"
Hours later
I am back to say
That Rosamund's
Returned to Highland
There were screams
And a knife
She had tried to
It was bloody
Thank God
In this house
The kitchen's near the study
No, I can't keep reading this
John, please, this is what I need to ask you
As I'm writing
The new novel
We need money
We lost it all in the Crash
And I'm wondering if
You might consider
A modest loan
No, a better thing
A re-publishing
In some kind of new edition
Of the early stuff
It would be enough
To keep her in good care
The Violet Hour might be able to draw attention
As a period piece, you know
And I really believe that if people were reminded
Of how good I used to be
They'd receive me better now
Denny
Denny
I wonder how she's doing over there
In the old days
When she felt this madness coming on
She'd secretly rent a room at the Plaza
And hide away until she was fit to return to people
Maybe if everything had happened differently back then
It would be all right today
Maybe the only thing separating us from contentment
Is the price of a hotel room
But then, her laugh
I can't decipher it
I gave my whole goddamn life for it
I guess it's a code
What she's lost, what she's owed
How she hates me
That laugh runs me through
And there's nothing to do
It denigrates me
It devastates me
Stop
But on April First
Nineteen-nineteen
The world was as new as the dawn
Now it's all reversed
We can't wipe it clean
I've gone too far and she's too far gone
And though you told us "Yes"
At first, you said "No"
And I wish I could go back
To ages ago
John, I wish you had shown us the door
And then
Nevermore
The Violet Hour
Your old friend, Denny
Will Reynolds & Eric Price - Dear John (feat. Jeremy Jordan, Santino Fontana & Erika Henningsen) Lyrics
Will Reynolds & Eric Price - Dear John (feat. Jeremy Jordan, Santino Fontana & Erika Henningsen) Lyrics
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"Letter to John Pace Seavering from Denis McCleary
Dated 12 June 1936"
Dear John
Yes, I'm writing
After all this time
How's the publishing game these days?
I know you probably don't want to hear
From an old has-been like me
But there's some news to share about Rosamund's
How should I say?
Hard-to-treat conditions
She's been under the care
Of Highland Psychiatric
It's the third time she's there
A psychiatric hat trick
A mental hospital
Nevertheless, the doctors have been encouraged
By her progress
And think that a few days back home
In what they call a "family atmosphere"
Might hasten her recovery even more
Oh, you're writing
Just a letter
Want a brandy?
I've already had four
And it's going alright
We are speaking softly
I'll pour one for me
But she's grown so thin
Her eyes look within
And they don't always recognize me
I'll say one wrong word
And the horse is spurred
And, well, stitches have been sewn
This business of my being on the wagon
Doesn't help much either
I've strictly limited my intake to white wine with lunch
Red wine with dinner
And cognac before bed
But it's not helping me hack out any stories
Because all I seem able to do is remember
Do you know what I keep thinking of, John?
The first day of April 1919
The first day of April 1919
You've probably forgotten all about it
You had just moved in
To that office suite
Where the manuscripts filled up the floor
You had worlds to win
There'd be no retreat
And that's when I burst through your door
You could change men's lives
And mine needed change
And I begged you to give me the nod
A man's fate arrives
If it's at close range
And he reaches out for it from God
And at first you said "No"
But then you said "Yes"
I got married and moneyed
The book went to press
That novel made both our careers
After all these years
The Violet Hour
The Violet Hour
Rose?
"Editor's note: Here there's a gap in the page
And when the letter resumes
The handwriting becomes jagged
And indecipherable in places"
Hours later
I am back to say
That Rosamund's
Returned to Highland
There were screams
And a knife
She had tried to
It was bloody
Thank God
In this house
The kitchen's near the study
No, I can't keep reading this
John, please, this is what I need to ask you
As I'm writing
The new novel
We need money
We lost it all in the Crash
And I'm wondering if
You might consider
A modest loan
No, a better thing
A re-publishing
In some kind of new edition
Of the early stuff
It would be enough
To keep her in good care
The Violet Hour might be able to draw attention
As a period piece, you know
And I really believe that if people were reminded
Of how good I used to be
They'd receive me better now
Denny
Denny
I wonder how she's doing over there
In the old days
When she felt this madness coming on
She'd secretly rent a room at the Plaza
And hide away until she was fit to return to people
Maybe if everything had happened differently back then
It would be all right today
Maybe the only thing separating us from contentment
Is the price of a hotel room
But then, her laugh
I can't decipher it
I gave my whole goddamn life for it
I guess it's a code
What she's lost, what she's owed
How she hates me
That laugh runs me through
And there's nothing to do
It denigrates me
It devastates me
Stop
But on April First
Nineteen-nineteen
The world was as new as the dawn
Now it's all reversed
We can't wipe it clean
I've gone too far and she's too far gone
And though you told us "Yes"
At first, you said "No"
And I wish I could go back
To ages ago
John, I wish you had shown us the door
And then
Nevermore
The Violet Hour
Your old friend, Denny
Dated 12 June 1936"
Dear John
Yes, I'm writing
After all this time
How's the publishing game these days?
I know you probably don't want to hear
From an old has-been like me
But there's some news to share about Rosamund's
How should I say?
Hard-to-treat conditions
She's been under the care
Of Highland Psychiatric
It's the third time she's there
A psychiatric hat trick
A mental hospital
Nevertheless, the doctors have been encouraged
By her progress
And think that a few days back home
In what they call a "family atmosphere"
Might hasten her recovery even more
Oh, you're writing
Just a letter
Want a brandy?
I've already had four
And it's going alright
We are speaking softly
I'll pour one for me
But she's grown so thin
Her eyes look within
And they don't always recognize me
I'll say one wrong word
And the horse is spurred
And, well, stitches have been sewn
This business of my being on the wagon
Doesn't help much either
I've strictly limited my intake to white wine with lunch
Red wine with dinner
And cognac before bed
But it's not helping me hack out any stories
Because all I seem able to do is remember
Do you know what I keep thinking of, John?
The first day of April 1919
The first day of April 1919
You've probably forgotten all about it
You had just moved in
To that office suite
Where the manuscripts filled up the floor
You had worlds to win
There'd be no retreat
And that's when I burst through your door
You could change men's lives
And mine needed change
And I begged you to give me the nod
A man's fate arrives
If it's at close range
And he reaches out for it from God
And at first you said "No"
But then you said "Yes"
I got married and moneyed
The book went to press
That novel made both our careers
After all these years
The Violet Hour
The Violet Hour
Rose?
"Editor's note: Here there's a gap in the page
And when the letter resumes
The handwriting becomes jagged
And indecipherable in places"
Hours later
I am back to say
That Rosamund's
Returned to Highland
There were screams
And a knife
She had tried to
It was bloody
Thank God
In this house
The kitchen's near the study
No, I can't keep reading this
John, please, this is what I need to ask you
As I'm writing
The new novel
We need money
We lost it all in the Crash
And I'm wondering if
You might consider
A modest loan
No, a better thing
A re-publishing
In some kind of new edition
Of the early stuff
It would be enough
To keep her in good care
The Violet Hour might be able to draw attention
As a period piece, you know
And I really believe that if people were reminded
Of how good I used to be
They'd receive me better now
Denny
Denny
I wonder how she's doing over there
In the old days
When she felt this madness coming on
She'd secretly rent a room at the Plaza
And hide away until she was fit to return to people
Maybe if everything had happened differently back then
It would be all right today
Maybe the only thing separating us from contentment
Is the price of a hotel room
But then, her laugh
I can't decipher it
I gave my whole goddamn life for it
I guess it's a code
What she's lost, what she's owed
How she hates me
That laugh runs me through
And there's nothing to do
It denigrates me
It devastates me
Stop
But on April First
Nineteen-nineteen
The world was as new as the dawn
Now it's all reversed
We can't wipe it clean
I've gone too far and she's too far gone
And though you told us "Yes"
At first, you said "No"
And I wish I could go back
To ages ago
John, I wish you had shown us the door
And then
Nevermore
The Violet Hour
Your old friend, Denny
Writer: Eric Price
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid