Only weeks ago, I was trotting the tracks with you,
Bantering away with,
laughing with you,
Invading your rooms, spending
all day with,
all night with you,
doing what I do.
I’m still me, doing what I do.
And you’re still you, doing what I can’t remember that it is that you do,
And I can still see you through the looking-glass,
But you are six thousand miles away,
For the moment.