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Bus stop, wet day, she's there, I say
"please share my umbrella."
Bus stop, bus goes, she stays,
love grows under my umbrella.
All that summer we enjoyed it, wind and rain and shine.
That umbrella we employed it, by august she was mine.
Ev'ry mornin' I would see her waiting at the stop
sometimes she'd shop and she would show me what she'd bought.
All the people stared as if we were both quite insane.
Some day my name and hers are going to be the same.
That's the way the whole thing started, silly, but it's true.
I'm thinking of a sweet romance beginning in a queue.
Came the sun, the ice was melting, no more sheltering now.
Nice to think that that umbrella led me to a vow.
Graham Gouldman
