Who knows when meeting shall ever be. It might be for years or It might be forever.
Let us then take a lump of clay, Wet it, pat it, And make an image of you And an image of me. Then smash them, crash them, And, with a little water, Knead them together.
And out of the clay we'll remake An image of you, and an image of me. Thus in my clay, there's a little of you, And in your clay, there's a little of me. And nothing will ever set us apart.
Living, we'll be forever in each other's heart, And dead, we'll be buried together.
Parting
