What would walter do if he'd run into you
Laying down among the blades of grass?
He'd turn the pages slow, as histories of snow
Speaking like each word would be his last

So I give you a ring, made of fiddle string
And I can hear the trumpets from the hills
The words I love the best are the words that you undress
As flowers crowd the open windowsills

Everything depends on a grove where the river bends
Where I imagine waking up with you
With you and I alive in 1855
Today the skies are colorblind and blue

The lighthouse keeper cheered the old man and his beard
But he swallowed up the last of all our gin
He stumbled home alone, to the shipwrecks and the storm
Wishing he was where your voice had been

Everything depends on the time when the money ends
When we ain't got a penny or a clue
With you and I alive in 1855
Today the skies are colorblind and blue

Everything depends on the way that you move your hands
And draw the curtains wide to see the view
With you and I alive in 1855
Today the skies are colorblind and blue