I'm writing a letter, my darling, to tell you I'm well   Things could be better - Oh darling, I'm living in hell   I take what I recall of your love and your grace   I try to make it my own   It's been three years and ninety-six days   Since they made this place our home   They caught a broken man, tired of the chase   As you watched through the window   I'm the number 3-1-9-6 slave   And I'm in this place alone      The whites of my eyes   They reflect your silhouette   The whites of my eyes   They reflect - They reflect…      All of the prisoners are angry and innocent too   I torture myself day after day about things I can't undo   The only comfort I take is in this endless letter   To you   The only comfort I take is in this endless letter   To you      The sun lit your silhouette   Through your blue cotton dress   The sun lit your silhouette   Through your blue cotton dress   The sun lit your silhouette