Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Waters Of March, artist - Al Jarreau. Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Song language: English
Waters Of March |
| A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road |
| It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone |
| It’s a sliver of glass, it is life, it’s the sun |
| It is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun |
| The oak when it blooms |
| A fox in the brush, the knot in the wood |
| The song of a thrush, the wood of the wind |
| A cliff, a fall, a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all |
| It’s the wind blowing free, it’s the end of a slope |
| It’s a beam, it’s a void, it’s a hunch, it’s a hope |
| And the riverbank talks of the waters of March |
| It’s the end of all strain, it’s the joy in your heart |
| The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone |
| The beat of the road, a slingshot stone |
| A fish, a flash, a silvery glow |
| A fight, a bet, the range of a bow |
| The bed of the well, the end of the line |
| The dismay in the face, it’s a loss, it’s a find |
| A spear, a spike, a point, a nail |
| A drip, a drop, the end of the tale |
| A truckload of bricks, in the soft morning light |
| The shot of a gun in the dead of the night |
| A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump |
| It’s a girl, it’s a rhyme, it’s a cold, it’s the mumps |
| The plan of the house the body in bed |
| And the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud |
| A float, a drift, a flight, a wing |
| A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring |
| And the riverbank talks of the waters of March |
| It’s the end of all strain, it’s the joy in your heart |
| A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe |
| It’s a thorn in your hand or a cut on your toe |
| A point, a grain, a bee, a bite, a blink, a buzzard |
| A sudden stroke of night |
| A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain |
| A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain |
| A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule |
| In the distance the shelves, grow three shadows of blue |
| And the riverbank talks of the waters of March |
| It’s the promise of life in your heart, in your heart |
| A stick, a stone, the end of the load |
| The rest of the stump, a lonesome road |
| A sliver of glass, a life, a sun |
| A night, a death, the end of the run |
| And the riverbank talks of the waters of March |
| It’s the end of all strain, it’s the joy in your heart |