Two Pictures in My Wallet

A few winters ago I was playing piano in a bar

And the only constant, night after night, was the bartender.

Folks would come and folks would go.

But the two of us stayed there, trapped in that velvet jail.

Then one night, he reached into his pocket,

And out of it he pulled this sad, sad tale.

I’ve got two pictures of two be autiful kids in my wallet.

You can tell that they’re mine cuz they both look so much like me.

Someone said, “Say, cheese” and they each gave a smile for the camera.

There’s Bobby at 4 and Chrissy the day she turned 3.

They’re my only two kids and, boy, how I really love them.

I would hug ‘em and never let go if they were here.

These two pictures are old. I wish I could show you some new ones.

They surely have changed. I haven’t seen them that much this year.

When I close up my wallet, my children are face to face,

Taking a good, long look at each other.

Are they trying to see what unites them as sister and brother?

But they’ve never met and probably never will.

Cuz one lives in New York and one lives in California

With two different moms, two different hometowns far apart.

But I’ve got a place where my two kids can be together:

Face to face in my wallet and side by side in my heart.

There’s only one place where my two kids can be together:

Face to face in my wallet and side by side in my heart.