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.