Peter:
The kettle's on, the sun has gone another day.
She offers me Tibetan tea on a flower tray.
She's at the door, she wants to score,
She dearly needs to say,

Kate:
I loved you a long time ago, you know,
where the wind's own forget-me-nots blow
but I just couldn't let myself go
not knowing what on earth there was to know.
But I wish that I had,
'cos I'm feeling so sad
that I never had one of your children.

Peter:
And across the room inside a tomb
a chance is waxed and wanes.
The night is young, why are we so hung up
in each others chains.
I must take her, I must make her
while the dove domains
and feel the juice run as she flies
run my winds under her sighs
as the flames of eternity rise
to lick us with the first-born lash of dawn.

Kate:
Oh really my dear
I can't see what we fear
sat here with ourselves in-between us.

Peter:
And at the door we can't say more
than just another day

Kate:
And without a sound
I turn around
and I walk away.

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