If I was a Londoner, rich with complaint
Would you take me back to your house
Which is sainted with lust and the listless shade
If I could have held you once more with that light
It’s nothing to you, but it keeps me alive

I used to listen to this while walking to work, thinking of A, wondering if she’d see me again in London. How it would be, to visit her. Some days, I wish I could go back and change things.