The Ground Beneath Your Feet - Stephen Fretwell

Now that since I’ve found your face

In the most peculiar place

I don’t feel I’ve anything to prove

To anyone else but you

And I think of her

And she thinks of him

And there’s no escaping

This mess that we’re in

But its like she’s holding court

Down each street that we walk

And as she’s drawing all that heat

I feel like the ground beneath her feet

Glance past a skyline of factories

Think of that life that was over to you

Time, time well there’s a funny thing

Written in black on the back of your hand

I still think of her

Do you think of him

And those pills and potions

Work the same time again

And you’re counting all the numbers

In your waterproof purse

And it’s not just a chance I have to stay and crawl along and past

The ground beneath your feet

Do you think of her

'Cause I think of him

And there’s no escaping

This mess that we’re in

And its like you’re holding court

Down each street that we walk

And as you’re drawing all that heat

I can’t surmise or say

I wonder what price it is I’ll pay

To sweep and move the sand

From the ground beneath your feet

Now that I’ve found your face

In the most peculiar place