Paint Me a Wish on a Velvet Sky

One day, you'll look, to see I've gone. But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun. Follow it all the way out the Marston Ferry Road and down a dirt path beside the river to the Victoria Arms for a drink on the lawn overlooking the Cherwell. And I could have sworn I'd never left Oxford. My final night here last year was spent with Dave, from the office, drinking shandies on the lawn and watching a troop of Morris Men dancing on the terrace behind us. And so it was again. Same company, same view, same view, and same cultural oddity on the pub lawn. Morris Men, to the unenlightened, are some bizarre cross of middle-aged men and fairies, dressed all in white with bells tied to their legs and prancing around waving handkerchiefs. Very peculiar custom. The accordian ensemble was jolly good though. And so it's back to Oxford, the city that hasn't changed in a thousand years. Except the neighboring children are a little bit taller, and a little more freckled, and the windows on the flat are a bit easier to open. The little things that make us so happy right?

All I wanna do is live by the sea.