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Sitting alone listening to that album I gave you;
I suddenly and finally know what he means.
But is it all just a metaphor as grand as the subject itself?
Or could it be like the distance between us?
Our own Atlantic.

None of it came from lust, nothing hormonal.
Doesn?t that count for something?
And we have our own moat; it?s called 93.
But I can row across it, and so can you.
You?re not much of a mariner, but neither am I.
And I?ve never made it far from home,
But I?d like to try.

And if you still don?t want to,
I?ll utter the most beautiful words you?ve ever heard,
Play the four right chords, and our Atlantic will part.
There we will be, miles apart with nothing in the way.
If I did all that would you walk across then?
Because I already have. There?s nothing in the way.

Don?t give up before we?ve tried.
I?m not hellbent, never was.
But if I ever said it wouldn?t hurt if this doesn?t work,
Then I lied.
At the end of the day we?d be back where we were.
And that isn?t so bad.
There?s just always the dream of more.
?That?s just how life goes.?