A brief encounter with someone from the past
What are two pints when we’ve been apart for years?
We talk of photos and ready salted crisps,
And about the people we don’t see anymore.
What are two hours when you’ve got a train to catch?
A ticking clock on the visit, just long enough
To remember what you once had.
What are two pounds, when I owe you much more?
A part of me remains in debt,
Locked in the bank vault of your memory.
What are two voices, in a sea of millions?
Our stories drowned out by their splashes,
How long before we stop drifting apart?