I wish you were here, dear, I wish you were here. I wish you sat on the sofa and I sat near. The handkerchief could be yours, the tear could be mine, chin bound. Though it could be, of course, the other way around.
I wish you were here, dear, I wish you were here. I wish we were in my car, and you'd shift the gear. We'd find ourselves elsewhere, on an unknown shore. Or else we'd repair to where we've been before.
I wish you were here, dear, I wish you were here. I wish I knew no astronomy when stars appear, when the moon skims the water that sighs and shifts in its slumber. I wish it were still a quarter to dial your number.
I wish you were here, dear, in this hemisphere, as I sit on the porch sipping a beer. It's evening; the sun is setting, boys shout and gulls are crying. What's the point of forgetting if it's followed by dying?
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