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 tomorrow comes like disease to us


From the 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