The Bechstein was our lifeline

We could see our faces in the shine

And know it wasn't over



You never said you loved me

Even when we crowded out the children from the sofa



I hope you overhear me

I hope you overhear me

When I'm uttering my name for you



In case collected copies of The Times get faded before ninety nine

The trunk will stay locked shut



In the garden the ritual was acted out under every tree

Shame my favourite scenes were cut