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I met you through a common friend |
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In the attic of my parents house |
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And though I didn't know it then |
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I soon was finding out |
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You are the roots that sleep beneath my feet |
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And hold the earth in place |
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Each time a faucet opens |
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Words are spoken |
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The water runs away |
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And I hear your name |
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No, nothing has changed |
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There was this book I read and loved |
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The story of a ship |
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Who sailed around the world and found |
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That nothing else exists |
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Beyond his own two sails |
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And wooden shell |
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And what is held within |
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All else is sure to pass |
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We clutch and grasp |
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And debate what's truly permanent |
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But when the wind starts to shift |
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There's no argument |
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I sing and drink and sleep on floors |
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And try hard not to be annoyed |
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By all these people worrying about me |
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So when I'm suffering through some awful drive |
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You occasionally cross my mind |
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It's my hidden hope that you are still among them |
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Well are you? |
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Oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet |
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And hold the earth in place |
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Each time a curtain opens |
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Sunlight pours in |
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A lifetime melts away |
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And we share a name |
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On some picturesque grave |
