In the pub where it's always ten past two
I'll wait for you.
Tucked in the corner - you know the booth.
Like the clock face
waiting silently and immobile.
Time standing still without you.
And the piano man will be here
playing to a thankless crowd.
But we'll clap like your papa would.
The pub who's clock remains still
and with airplanes circling above;
That's where I'll be.