Longing for London

I still do vividly remember
the snows of London from that dream,
maybe a distant memory in December
flowing back in a constant stream.

In this other life we were musicians,
best friends performing all night.
So young with beautiful ambitions.
Beyond reach and out of sight.

When London was asleep,
we would laugh and drink the night away
sharing secrets to keep,
never minding what frosting winds say.

There we enjoyed nice wine.
There we never worried about a thing.
There life was truly, truly fine.
There we let our voices sing.

It is really all gone,
and here I am lying in my sheets,
with an untouched coffee at dawn
dreaming of walking down those streets.