Arlington House. Address no fixed abode. An old man in a three-piece suite. Sits in the road. He stares across the water. And sees right through the lock. But on and up like outstretched hands. His mumbled words his fumbled words. Further down there's a photo booth. A million plastic bags. And an old woman filling out. A million baggage tags. But when she get thrown out. Three bags at a time. She spies the old chap in the road. To share her bags with she has bags of time. Surrounded by his past. On a short white line. He sits while cars pass. Either side. Takes his time. Trying to remember. One better day. A while ago when people stopped. To hear him say. Walking 'round you sometimes. Hear the sunshine. Beating down in time with the. Rhythm of your shoes. Now she has walked. Enough through rainy town. She rests her back against his. And sits down. She's trying to remember. One better day. Awhile ago when people stopped. To hear her say. Walking 'round you sometimes. Hear the sunshine. Beating down in time with the. Rhythm of your shoes. Walking 'round you sometimes. Hear the sunshine. Beating down in time with the. Rhythm of your shoes. The feeling of arriving. When you've nothing left to lose.