Let us go then, you and I,    
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Let us stroll, hand and hand,
While the cities fumes encircle us, like a marching band
The moon will wake from its drunken stupor
Only to ask who the hell we are
We’ve met before, you say
As I steal a glance, and we walk away

Down the nicotine streets
Past the rusted pub on the corner
and the funeral mourner
With his stolen beggars cup
That no longer contains coins
But instead a lover called jack

He looks familiar, you say
Always in the last pew, back in May

You haven’t been back to the chapel since
Constantly wondering, and questioning the Prince

As our heels become worn
and the sun begins to yawn
We arrive back
at my little brick place
The steps a little too steep
and the roof a little too slanted
The flowers never planted

Next time, you’re following me, you say
As I slip the key into the lock, and you walk away.