We kept our hands in our pockets for so long, my love.

I’ve become bruised of all the fights I’ve had with dear old boredom.

How about we take the next train out this silly old town?

See the lights and sunsets in big or small cities.

We can drink beer in London, morning tea and breakfast biscuits.

Or be knights in shiny armor pacing through the greenest hills of my sweet sweet Ireland.

Perhaps, dive off clips, holding hands, in Honolulu.

We’ll go anywhere, with our bruised passports in our hands.

No more hands in our pockets,

No more fighting dear old boredom.

Just you and I, so...

Where shall we go, my love?