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 can be honest and answer plainly
'Since November, it's been raining'