We walk hand in hand
These old brick walls...

It's funny really
To think of all the lonely people...

You sit in your sorrow
And cry tears of regret...

If only it were that simple
To give up and let you go...

The stream rolls
The frog croaks...

So
Here we go again...

Sitting on the window sill
Staring into the night...

We stand together
In your driveway...

Chasing you through these open fields
Gets exhausting, you know...

I am the bricks
And you are my mortor...

I'm dreaming
Of a white picket fence...

From that beautiful short brown hair
To those green converses...