THIRTY YEARS AND SEVEN DAYS

© 2005 Dan Hocott (BMI)

It’s been two weeks shy of seven years

Since I nearly drowned from shedding all those tears.

But I got myself a boat,

And o’re these tears I’ll float.

In the morning I’ll be over you, my dear.

In the morning I’ll be over you, my dear.

It seems just like yesterday,

That you packed it all up and sailed away.

If your ship would spring a leak

I‘d get through another week

Just a’ knowing that you won’t be back this way.

Just a’ knowing that you won’t be back this way.

I’ve been marking all the minutes,

Counting all the days,

Crossing off the years

Since you went away.

Regretting every moment

Since we said Adieu.

Now I can’t seem to find the time

To get over you!

Eight score and sixteen years ago

Since my great grandfather came upon this shore.

If he knew that you’d be here

He’d have turned around, my dear

And kept sailing right past your door.

And kept sailing to another shore.

It might take a lifetime, so they say,

For the memory of you to wash away.

It’s been forty days and nights

And the water’s getting high!

But your memory looks like it’s going to stay,

For another thirty years and seven days.