I wonder what your question will be she asked of me.
I always knew what my answer would be, whatever she asked of me, yesterday at a quarter to three.
It’s not the question of you and me, not the question of how things will be, just what your question will be.
Stare at the wall, why must this be? It’s forever, the end of the sea, a place where we begin again, why won’t you see, I want to know what your question will be.
What is right and what’s wrong what is the point of belonging to me, if I don’t know what your question will be.
If we’re wrong, if we’re right it’s plain to see. We’ve always known the answer and the question to be the same for you and for me, at the end of the sea, or if it’s just a quarter to three.