| Go and gather up your things for the long ride
|
| Don’t ask me, «Where are we going?»
|
| It’ll take time
|
| And the flowers, oh, the flowers will be buried under snow when the cold winds
|
| blow
|
| But the lake changes quicker than you know
|
| At the seaside wading in the low tide in the shallows
|
| In the wintertime, stars in the western sky flicker and fade out
|
| But the water, oh, the water is shaking
|
| At the breeze from the high, high seas
|
| And the lake changes are bitter to my knees
|
| Then I’ll wade down
|
| I’m weighed down with family photographs and relics I’ve found in a back room
|
| I’ll be back soon
|
| I won’t sink, I’ll swim
|
| I’ll be back soon
|
| You and I, let’s build a bonfire in the sand dunes
|
| And sit a while, cheek-to-cheek
|
| And I’ll be humming your favorite tune
|
| It’s not the leaving that’s grieving me
|
| It’s the thought of you alone making my heart moan
|
| And when the lake changes, down the road I go
|
| Then I’ll wade down
|
| I’m weighed down with family photographs and relics I’ve found in a back room
|
| I’ll be back soon
|
| I won’t sink, I’ll swim
|
| I’ll be back soon
|
| Go and gather up your things for the long ride |