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
Mike Clem © 1999 J. Fish Music/ASCAP