Texty: Pink Floyd. Meddle. San Tropez.

As I reach for a peach, slide a line down behind, a sofa in San Tropez
breaking a stick with a brick on the sand
riding a wave in the wake of an old sedan
sleeping alone in the drone of the darkness
scratched by the sand that fell from my love
keeping my dreams and I still hear her calling
if you're alone, I'll come home

Backward and homebound, a pigeon, a dove
gone with the wind, the rain on a airplane
owning a home with no silver spoon
I'm drinking champagne like a good tycoon
sooner than wiat for a break in the weather
I'll gather my far-glung thoughts together
speeding away on the wind to a new day
if you're alone, I'll come home

And I pause for a while by a country style
and listen to the things they say
digging the gold in a hole in my hand
hoping the good, take a look at the way things end
and you're leading me down to a place by the sea
I hear your soft voice calling to me
making a date for later by phone
And if you're alone, I'll come home

(Thanks to Marco for these corrections)