Atlantic

There's a channel. There's a tunnel
 you can sail by train, from the English coast
 There's an ocean with no tunnel
 you can sail by mail, but go parcel post
 There's nothing but the waves, the fish & the kelp
 in between her & him
 they entertain the thought about meeting halfway
 but neither knows how to swim
 He has a pump, she has a pail
 they'll empty this quarry soon
 stand on a rock and see each other wave
 and for now that will have to do
 till the Atlantic's dry
 There's a lighthouse, there's an outhouse
 both rely on a torch, just different bulbs
 He sends flowers- it takes hours
 just to lie on her porch, they're quite different bulbs
 Chorus
 Bridge the distance, drain the ocean
 pave a highway on the sandy floor
 part the waters with devotion- it's just a thought
 a reunion near Bermuda
 they're too tired to hug, they just stand and gleam
 dehydrated yet elated
 & they suddenly wake, they've both shared a dream
 Chorus
 till the airfares drop to Greyhound rates
 for now that will have to do
 till Mother Earth moves and shifts some plates,
 for now that will have to do
 till the Crown reclaims the United States
 for now that will have to do
 till Saint Peter opens up Heaven's gates
 for now that will have to do
 till the Atlantic's dry