A hundred years

I know that you want me to wait for you
to sort out a life maybe impossible
or may take a hundred years
and my self has run away
with the rolling drums of sibelius
so my body sits on a picnic chair
among friends underneath evening stars

I know that you want me to wait for you
but I can not wait a hundred years
though my heart is lost
in your soft navy sweater
and the two hands I love to hold
my body is restless my self is regretful
you see I can not wait a hundred years