Waters of march

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road; It's feeling alone, it's the weight of your load; It's a sliver of glass, it's life, it's the sun; It's night, it's death, it's a knife, it's a gun; A flower that blooms, a fox in the brush; A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush; A myst'ry of life, the steps in the hall; The sound of the wind, and the waterfall. It's the moon floating free, it's the curve of the slope; It's an end, it's a bee, it's a reason for hope; And the river bank sings of the waters of March; It's the promise of spring, the joy in your heart. A spear, a spike, a stake, a nail; It's a drip, it's a drop, it's the end of the tale; The dew on the leaf in the morning light, The shot of a gun in the dead of the night; A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump, It's the will to survive, it's a jolt, it's a jump; Blue print of a house, a body in bed; Car stuck in the mud, it's the mud, it's the mud; Am7 A fish, a flash, a wish, a wing; It's a hawk, it's a dove, it's the promise of spring; And the river bank sings of the waters of March; It's the end of dispair, the joy in your heart. A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road; The stump of a tree, it's a frog, it's a toad; A sigh, a breath, a walk, a run; A life, a death, a rain, a sun; And the river bank sings of the waters of March; It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart. Music by Antonio Carlos Jobim