In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. " "Aye, music hits them. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent.
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