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there’s a million different reasons
you wouldn’t appear
took my picture by the fountain
for something to share
hoping you might get the message
and think of me there
your face lit up by the image
like a postcard
saying wish you were here


your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand
your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand


he went home to the south island
to get himself straight
but the ōtākaro river couldn’t wash it away
brought back gifts for all the children
greenstones on strings
and a soft white lamb just for me
but did it do a thing?

your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand
your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand


when i was out in california
i wrote you from the hills
but the words that we were sharing
were never quite for real
there were all the unsent letters at the bottom of the bin
asking why you look so strung out, junky thin?
but i wish you were here


your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand
your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand


not a myth tied to a mast
you’re a man upon the shore
sirens knocking at your door
and they always find you
sleeping on the floor
in the mess you left before
and every time they call
it sounds just like my father’s name

put your hand into my hand
put your hand into my hand
put your hand into my hand
put your hand into my hand


don’t forget
when you go to sleep tonight
six green eyes like yours
lie wide open


your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand
your feet on the sand
your hand in my hand