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What would Walter do if he'd run into youlaying down among the blades of grass?He'd turn the pages slow, as histories of snow,speaking like each word would be his lastSo I give you a ring, made of fiddle stringand I can hear the trumpets from the hillsThe words I love the best are the words that you undressas flowers crowd the open windowsillsEverything depends on a grove where the river bendswhere I imagine waking up with youWith you and I alive in 1855Today the skies are colorblind and blueThe lighthouse keeper cheered the old man and his beard,but he swallowed up the last of all our ginHe stumbled home alone, to the shipwrecks and the storm,wishing he was where your voice had beenEverything depends on the time when the money ends,when we ain't got a penny or a clueWith you and I alive in 1855Today the skies are colorblind and blueEverything depends on the way that you move your handsand draw the curtains wide to see the viewWith you and I alive in 1855Today the skies are colorblind and blue From Letras Mania