The click of her knitting, the tick of the clock

The shock of an occasional sigh.

Me and her sitting in a room filled with fog

A great storm is brewing nearby.

She sits in her silence in the old rocking chair

We both feel we've something to prove.

It seems such a long way from here to there

Who's going to make the first move.

She picks at her knitting like she's looking for fleas

I re-read again the same line.

Although we're both sitting we are down on our knees

Praying for things to be fine.

I could reach out and touch her, I could tell her I care

She could smile but what would that prove.

It sure seems a long way from here to there

Who's going to make the first move.

The click of her knitting is like gun-fire to me

We're a time-bomb with a two second fuse.

It's only our silence that steadies the peace

And stops an explosion of views.

We're both sat here thinking we've been treated unfair

We wait for the other to move.

It seems such a long way from here to there

Who's going to make the first move.

It seems such a long way from here to there

Who's going to make the first move.