I’ll be the ground for the rain from Your skies
Catching the drops like a trampoline
We’ll be the cars in the photographs
The memories of the golden years
If you find yourself washed up on the shore
With your body bruised and your clothes all torn…
You are the balm for the sores on my heart
You are the notes in my lullaby
Time will confess all the riches to get
(In) Building your house on the solid ground
If you find yourself washed up on the shore
With your body bruised and your clothes all torn…
You and me, we might just fit
We’ll be the page for the poet’s best work
With rhymes tattooed right to our fingertips
Living in walls that the painter has drawn
Catching the birds and the bumble bees
If you find yourself washed up on the shore
With your body bruised and your clothes all torn
And if I have the strength left in my bones
I’ll pick you up and carry you home
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