Beatles thought dream 012809

Your mother should know I’m so tired when I get home.
Yesterday, she came in through the bathroom window.

“Do you want to know a secret,” she said.
She said, “Baby, it’s you. I need you.”

“Wait, slow down, Michelle. You like me too much.”

Tell me why I saw her standing there, Julia.

She came in through the bathroom window the night before.

“Good day sunshine,” she said.
She said, “I want to tell you it’s only love.
I want to tell you I feel fine.”

“I’m so tired, Michelle. Good night.”

“Ask me why I need you, honey pie.”

No reply.

“Because I’m down,” she said.
She said, “Because in my life I’m a loser.”

I’ve got a feeling she’s leaving home. Something.

“I want to hold your hand, little child.
Hold me tight. I need you. I want you.”

She’s so heavy. Help, Julia.

“Oh! darling, please please me,” she said.
She said, “There’s a place . . . here,
there and everywhere. A taste of honey.”

“You can’t do that, Michelle, what you’re doing.”

“Bad boy. Why don’t we do it in the road?
Every little thing.
Every little thing,” she said.
She said the word “chains.”

“Get back, Michelle. Don’t bother me.”

She’s a woman, I should’ve known better.

“Honey, don’t. Don’t let me down.
All my loving. I need you.”

“Goodnight, Michelle.”

“I’ll be back. I will.”

“You won’t see me, Michelle.”

“I’ll get you,” she said.
She said, “It won’t be long.
I’ll get you. I will. Any time at all.
Run for your life, honey pie.”

It’s all too much, Julia.

“Happiness is a warm gun,” she said.
She said, “Happiness is a warm gun.
All I’ve got to do . . .

P.S. I love you.”

Let it be the end, Julia.
Let it be the end.