Lyrics

On a brown leather sofa in South Arizona, she waits with a flame in her eye
The morning is quiet, children are sleeping, she’s steeping in burgundy wine
She dances in flickers from bedrooms of neighbors and a busted old street lamp outside
But soon they will scatter, as the red rock and cacti start waving in desert sunshine

And just on the corner—and a few thousand miles—he wakes to the roar of the tide
He wrestles himself from his bed to the counter without even checking the time
Lamenting the efforts, long since turned to vapor, to break from the chains in his mind
The days are still with her—his present and future—they follow past every state line

From out of the quiet, a hickory floorboard creaks lightly above where she stares
A soft pitter-patter turns into familiar commotion approaching the stairs
Producing a smile drawn only from memory, she clears stale smoke from the air
And takes to her bosom, a boy with the face of his father and dusty-blonde hair

Not far from the window, out past the horizon, an ocean breeze kisses the sand
As mumbling seabirds fade into the buzzing of locals and hum of the land
Aquamarine foam on a vast eastern seaboard snaps under his feet where he stands
He watches the distance and tries to resist reminiscing on the best laid of plans

She pulls from her dresser a folded-up letter she started to send many times
The words are half-blurry, faint staining of teardrops bleeds ink through the unwritten lines
She lowers the paper back down from her face and replaces it safely inside
Then closing the drawer turns her back to the mirror, emitting an audible sigh