كلمات 1855

What would walter do if he'd run into you Laying down among the blades of grass? He'd turn the pages slow, as histories of snow Speaking like each word would be his last So I give you a ring, made of fiddle string And I can hear the trumpets from the hills The words I love the best are the words that you undress As flowers crowd the open windowsills Everything depends on a grove where the river bends Where I imagine waking up with you With you and I alive in 1855 Today the skies are colorblind and blue The lighthouse keeper cheered the old man and his beard But he swallowed up the last of all our gin He stumbled home alone, to the shipwrecks and the storm Wishing he was where your voice had been Everything depends on the time when the money ends When we ain't got a penny or a clue With you and I alive in 1855 Today the skies are colorblind and blue Everything depends on the way that you move your hands And draw the curtains wide to see the view With you and I alive in 1855 Today the skies are colorblind and blue