The edge of the sea is a beautifully elusive place, an undefinable boundary ever-changing with the twists and turns of the ceaseless tides. One moment it belongs to the land, the next it is reclaimed by the waves. With each wave a new shore line appears, never exactly the same. It's a magical world, in which the eternal rhythm of the ebb and flow tirelessly hides and reveals beauty beneath the surface. Fragments of the beach, little mementos that carry memories of endless walks along the shore, soft touch of the fitful waves, and a gentle kiss of the summer breeze.
Inside each drop of saltwater There is a call of a boundless sea
Inside each spiral of a shell There is a whisper of a restless wave
Inside each grain of sand There is a murmur of a wind-swept shore
Inside each fragment of a rock There is a thunder of a mighty mountain
Let my toes teach the shore how to feel a tranquil life through the wetness of sands
Let my heart latch the door of blackness, as all my pain now blue sky understands
You don’t need to be the tide to rise and fall, you don’t have to be a wave to touch the shore, just be a little grain of sand and feel them all
You are the missing piece of me, The piece I was always searching for - In the mountains high and oceans deep Until there was nowhere else to go.
And then, when lost by the raging sea I found it, unexpectedly - When the tide of your beating heart Swept across the shores of mine.
Take my hand and… feel the sand beneath your aimless feet towards the sparkling waves
Five little seashells lying on the shore. Swish went the waves. And then there were four.
Four little seashells, pretty as can be. Swish went the waves. Then there were three.
Three little seashells, all pearly new. Swish went the waves. Then there were two.
Two little seashells, lying in the sun. Swish went the waves. Then there was one.
One little seashell, lying all alone. I put it in my pocket and took it back home.
Like pebbles on a beach Kicked around, displaced by feet Like broken stones - all trying to get home. Like a loser's reach Too slow and short to hit the peaks So lost and alone - trying to get home.
As another piece shatters Another little bit gets lost And what else really matters - at such a cost?
Oblong stones sink slow and sideways. Shaped by the weight of waves, dutifully vibrating nature’s lunar-bound graces, they wash ashore only for closed palms to forsake them. The cheerful will cherish them, place them on windowsills, or on graves.
When the blue hour comes for you If there's anything that you would have me do Just call on me and I'll be coming through I will always be there for you When the blue hour comes
Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides;