'Til now, you know, I've never been a pyjama man.
A tee shirt, old pants, that'd be more like me.
But these that you bought me, you know, I quite like them. They're
kind of like ones that Clouseau might wear.
If things had worked out, we'd drink tea in the mornings.
Reading in bed together, there in your big town house.
Thinking about walks, down in the city park.
Maybe we'd have owned, been owned by, a dog.
But somehow it still feels like a road never taken.
A life for some other man, but not for me.
Even though I suspect that the door is half-open,
I'm still copping out, with 'Let be what will be'.
But you know, when I see you, there's still something there.
It's a strong feeling, it won't go away.
You are quite remarkable, you're one in a million.
And we didn't end badly - a civilised, delightful
affair, to remember, to savour, in fact -
But never to cling on, long past the moment.
We cannot deny all of our crazy differences,
Of language and culture, expectation and need.
I thought just this morning of booking a ticket
To come with you, just like we so lightly discussed.
An adventure for New Year, a whole brand-new continent,
To meet you, at home near your own native land,
To know you again, in a new, different way.
Flights are all booked out, prices are crazy,
I guess I'd need jabs, and all manner of things.
Three days before Christmas, bit late in the planning.
I'll call you this morning, and see what you're saying.
But I guess there's no hurry, so maybe next year.
But I quite love wearing these comfy pyjamas
I didn't expect that I'd like them so much.
And I am so happy to have found you still there,
There in your big town house, next to the city park,
And your eyes still can give me that feeling inside.
So may next year, the new year, be a happy and joyful one.
A pyjama new year, to be owned by a dog.