There’s somewhere out there
Shores of golden string
A place you could find under warming winds
Waves crash pink on swaying grass
The sun is going down
The wind is picking up
And the hour is getting late
Time slipped his fingers
Through your hair
Out of your hand
The shores are thinning away
The sun is going down
The hour is getting late
Will you find freedom on the side of the road
In your final hours
In the depths of the cold
Golden shores may await
My eyes are growing dim
The sun is coming down
The hour is getting late