High ceilings, high enough to stack buses
Always a couple of pigeons, patrolling benches
He's staring at her, she looks away, blushes
It seems like every moment something is departing

This space, now, is large enough to contain another reality
Something of this scene will remain as an echo, a parallel life
Where they didn't say goodbye, where there isn't this duality
Of love-or-not-love, couldn't simple affection have sufficed?

Yes, the space is large enough to contain a future
It is not leaving with him now, not on the Belfast bus
Unless, of course, it's eaten away by those vultures
Those pigeons, patrolling benches, cautiously approaching
Broken-hearted women and quite corners of busaras