I'm happiest when I walk
along the shoreline at night.
Preachers and their talk,
soldiers and their walk,
Broadway and its glee
all mean nothing to me.
I'm happiest when I walk
along the shoreline at night.
I'm sure somewhere in the world,
someone's praying for a child,
someone's making a million,
and someone's heart is breaking.
Staring back at a satellite
are a billion little lights,
like stars stranded in our planet,
piercing through darkness' gauntlet.
I'm sure somewhere in the world,
someone's walking home alone,
someone's drowning in applause,
earnestly making their mark;
But the way I see it,
all that we'll ever be,
are footprints in the sand:
awaiting the ocean,
to pull us back,
as we eventually fade,
into the grand scheme of things:
Seasons, trains and historians.
So I'm building a lighthouse,
because dark are the waters,
and many are the strangers,
in my sordid little head.
I put a brick in,
with each sand-bathed step
closer to the lights at the harbor;
to the tugboats in all their clamor.
Their bells still pitched like they talk,
Though it isn't much of a sight,
I'm happiest when I walk
along the shoreline at night.
(No rhyme, no effort. Wrote this in church...)
