Paradise

Every love story takes us back to the first love story.

I met her in the morning,
On my way down to the well.
She was drawing out the water from a stone.
There was barely any warning,
As I stumbled and I fell,
On a path that I was walking all alone.
Now, I’ve heard about a heaven
Lying high above the sky,
But they never said that heaven
Could be looking in my eyes.
She gave Paradise a picture and a name.
And now, Paradise will never be the same.
Paradise will never be the same.

It’s not easy to imagine,
And it’s harder to believe,
As I’m struggling just to make my daily bread,
That I could be her Adam,
Yes, and she could be my Eve,
Lying naked in the fragrance of her bed.
But I never meant to wrestle
With her demons and her fears,
And I never met the devil
Who was whispering in her ear,
Till she’d take the name of Paradise in vain.
And now, Paradise will never be the same.
Paradise will never be the same.

Now the summer shows no mercy,
As I’m searching for return,
And the leaves have gone and covered up the tracks.
Every garden has its serpent.
Every apple has its worm.
Maybe Paradise was never meant to last.
But when the wind is blowing
Out across the dusty plain,
I can smell the roses growing.
I can almost taste the rain.
And if Paradise can ever be regained.
Well then, Paradise will never be the same.
Paradise will never be the same.

Words and music © 1999 by Steve Brooks and Frog Records
(512) 440-7668
[email protected]
www.stevebrooks.net

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