The Reply

It's quarter past seven when I hold you

A head floats above the sleeping town

Somebody shouts to me you're calling

But nobody's out there to reply

It's quarter past seven and I hold you

My heart floats across the silent town

I stand at the window and watch it soaring

Over the boulevards to the night

Over the roof tops to the night

Somebody from a dream

Unseen and insignificant

In the emptiness of this lost town

And the openness of their face

Is staring all around

Configurations of the stars

In a God's hand

And I hold you closer in the night

Now that it's morning time

It's quarter past seven when I hold you

Your hair smells of gentle summer rain

I look out the window and I start calling

But I don't know what to reply