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