You can have Charleston. The cobblestone streets. The steeples looking down on The Battery. The top sails and the clydesdales, pullin' people all around.
November of '43. On a boat comin' 'cross the sea. He left a boy, came back a man. She started running' when she saw his face. It'd been 655 days. Since she held his hand.
Had a bottle of wine. And a perfectly fine dinner. Talked about school, work, life. And how cold it was last winter. Laid down in this big old bed. And you turned on the TV.