No, we can’t take that old letter from our first lover.

No, we can’t take anything unto that Some Great Other.

Every lone sock and every diamond – we can’t prove it, ‘cause everybody knows:

If it’s not love we can’t take it when we go.

But we can take our ex-wives’ laughs, and our mothers’ worry lines.

We can take all that which we gave to those of whom we had to help,

And of whom that taught us most:

That if it’s not love we can’t take it when we go.

No, we can’t take it when we go, when we go, wherever we go.

If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go

To that place where moth nor rust cannot touch us past this dust –

If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go.

And all our prizes and impulse buys: they will be fast appraised,

And into one bargain bin they’ll be casually thrown.

Until what’s favoured and/or forgotten

Will delicately be told: “if you’re not love, kid, we can’t take ya when we go.”

No, we can’t take it when we go, when we go, wherever we go.

If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go

To that place where moth nor rust cannot touch us past this dust –

If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go.