Bones got picked between our homes
Between the city and the Western coast
I stand at the Mission Beach
Familiar as you are to me

A house on a truck bed rolls up the coast
Past a grey shack near collapse
The place you grow stays in your bones
It’s lovely.
We all feel alone.

You’re a boat and I’m the sea
Your body kept afloat by me
Borne away to a restless coast
With grasslands inland and lighthouse roads.

Bones got picked between our homes.
On your side I miss my own.
But of all the things I get done in my life
Holding on to you
Would be one thing that I did right.
Holding on to you
Holding on to you
Holding on to you
Would be one thing that I did right

Holding on to you
Holding on to you
Holding on to you
Holding on