A trip down South, on the coast to France, an hour by couch
Takes us from Bordeaux
To the middle of in-between
Passing ...
and massive ... chalets, a stone throw from the beach
In a town that's out of season and somehow out of time
We try to make sense of our lives
We find a small hotel, run by an Englishman
A wife from past back home
Put out to have the custom, so early in the year
Takes us in, reluctantly
First night in the bar, the second on the beach
Perhaps a sentence in-between
We walk down empty streets while the march's sun caught us out
And evening convalescing of ...
We simultaneously
Combust to green
Twenty-six times 'round the track, and feeling every lap
You're catching upon me
We joke about the difference in age and sex and wealth
And you take it on your sun-burnt chin
We talk about the present, the future and the past
Agree that things aren't working
Best things never last
On midnight march's beach, stumble from the bar
And down I'll lie sleeping
While bathing naked ...
We sit there counting stars
