You washed ashore to sweat soaked floors And carved your name in their tattered beach logs And now you’ve sucked the air from my lungs
But the waves can beat against the tide Your call brings storms, of this I’m sure But refuge comes in the throes of humble pastures I’ll walk them, I’ll walk them Even if it means that I’m alone
Where are those earthy chords Where are the mud-caked throats I’ll scratch out your lines They’re not in the words you wrote