I waltzed for kindling, but her skinny dry stems
They burned up in a hot flash of embers and wind
I set you aside, my first kiss on the lips
Madrona, I swore I could forgetMy guts kept saying your nameWe laid on our backs, our hats nearly touching
At Indian Camp, under the stars
Even I know a good thing when she lays down beside me
What I didn't know then was how to get startedMy guts keep calling your nameMadrona, you gave me too many chances
Of course, I wouldn't see it that way
Till you slipped away quiet, a skiff in a tempest
You dropped your rope and hid behind a waveMy guts kept saying your name
My guts kept calling your nameOne day, I hope I'll see your sail again
Or find your wobbly kid-sister scrawl in the mail again
I won't be so roundabout, I'll make you stay
My guts will finally have nothing left to sayNothing left to say
Compositor(es): Izaak Opatz.
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