If you should find your way out of this town
think of me sometimes
when your bicycle reaches the crest of the hill
or when you sit by the fire telling your stories
or as you lift your eyes to the horizon of the desert,
set down your cup, pick up your bags,
and go on your way:
I never thought you’d really leave
I never realized there was so much attachment
to the past.
Or how strong was the rope pulling us apart.
Now there’s only the small town,
the cobble streets, the wise men,
and it’s time to rest.
Yes, it’s time to lie down
and gaze out of the window
and think of you again.
And we look at the same stars, the same moon;
and watch the same sun rise and set.
We’re standing on the same earth: two minds
four hands, four legs, and twenty toes
but one heart.
Yes, still one heart.