There's a channel. There's a tunnel you can sail by train, from the English coast There's an ocean with no tunnel you can sail by mail, but go parcel post There's nothing but the waves, the fish & the kelp in between her & him they entertain the thought about meeting halfway but neither knows how to swim He has a pump, she has a pail they'll empty this quarry soon stand on a rock and see each other wave and for now that will have to do till the Atlantic's dry There's a lighthouse, there's an outhouse both rely on a torch, just different bulbs He sends flowers- it takes hours just to lie on her porch, they're quite different bulbs Chorus Bridge the distance, drain the ocean pave a highway on the sandy floor part the waters with devotion- it's just a thought a reunion near Bermuda they're too tired to hug, they just stand and gleam dehydrated yet elated & they suddenly wake, they've both shared a dream Chorus till the airfares drop to Greyhound rates for now that will have to do till Mother Earth moves and shifts some plates, for now that will have to do till the Crown reclaims the United States for now that will have to do till Saint Peter opens up Heaven's gates for now that will have to do till the Atlantic's dry