I keep trying to push my fingers through my hand.

We will have our own house there on the beach
Painted blue and white
Our bed will be as wide as we can reach
We can talk all night
And outside we will have a garden too
With flowers and trees
We can drink our tea there, just me and you
Doing as we please

But if this is a life that you would dread
I'd rather grow cold
In a world of steam, smoke, fear, and tears shed
If we'll still grow old