Both Words

There's a picture on my phone Of a picture in a frame My mother in her veil and glasses Standing in the light Somebody set her on a table At my niece's wedding night I don't have one of my own So I took one with my phone You've got her eyes, you've got her laugh You've got that same bright way And I have never said it Not one single day Thirty years I've carried it And never said a word You've been walking round with her face on And you never even heard You and your mother at the table Eating off each other's plates Ordering the same thing Nobody had to say Where I come from we didn't do that Twice a year and far away So I sat there watching you two Like it was a holiday You've got her eyes, you've got her laugh You've got that same bright way And I have never said it Not one single day Thirty years I've carried it And never said a word You've been walking round with her face on And you never even heard Her number's in my pocket It has been all along One call and I would know If I'm right or I'm wrong It isn't that they took the years And left me on my own It's that I had the number And I never picked up the phone You call me Uncle Mark You always say them both You've been handing me a name Since you were small enough to hold I took it like it was borrowed I took it like a loan And all that time you meant it And all that time I've known Next time that you say it Next time that you say it I'm going to answer you