This is us on a western Atlantic coast: with no place to be, just taking in the sea. Tonight with a constant buzz, staring at the ocean crashing on all the rocks below in this foreign home.
This old story: When we`re gone I feel I`d never miss anyone You lay in the grass along the edge
"Is this a dream?" you ask, and I don`t say anything because it may be a dream.
And we come to this place like two convicts that have escaped from the prison of everyday and for the moment we have our stay.
You know tomorrow comes like disease to us.
From this cliff`s edge gulls fly below us, diving into the sea below us.
And I`m not cold tonight beside you. And we`re not cold tonight.
This old story: When we`re gone I feel I`d never miss anyone This old story: Expatriate, you`re coming home.
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