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lyrics
He takes us down to where the shore kisses the tide and we comb the beach for pink seashells to give to our dying mother. I wiggle my toes in the warm sand, caving in castles made by hand. There's water everywhere and not a drop to drink. And she sits in her wicker chair, living fastly but dying slowly. She wears her heart on her sleeve, so we can see its gentle beating. We all cling to her thin dress so she won't fly away. Ou father tucks us into bed, whispering, "It'll all be alright." There's water everywhere but not a drop to drink. I'm as idle as a painted ship upon a painted sea. It's too late, my dear, the tides have come (and they're washing over our feet again.)
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