The Beach
There's a hole in the roof
And the rain's coming down
The roads are flooded
There's no way back to town
And the ship we came in on
Has just run aground
You know fate has a funny way
Of coming around
The memories we've buried
Have just taken seed
When springtime comes
They'll turn into weeds
And they'll creep through your window
To smother your dreams
You know fate has a funny way
Of coming around
Oh, they'll carve our names like scripture
To the soles of our feet
Each footprint that they take
It will tell of our beat
Till the night of the following rain
Till the low tide comes to swallow pain
This bottle of bourbon,
Now dry as a bone,
It drank us all up
Then it left us alone
Well we've since switched to skull pot
But we can't choke it down
You know fate has a funny way
Of coming around