She - Harry Connick, Jr.

Lay a hand
Upon the water.
Well within, well within.

Wash away
To fair morrow.
Ride ahead, ride ahead.

Make your mark,
Upon the rock,
For another one.

Ashes tell tales.
Fire gives faith.
Burn it up, burn it up.
Burn it up, burn it up.

She would waste not, not in struggle.
No other shall there ever be.
And what she is to love, listen, oh, my brother,
Is as the wind to mercury.

Don't you pray
Of a heartless town,
Or you'll be forced to flee.

Don't you live
In a soulless city,
Or you'll have to leave.

You don't need
No place of birth,
Hither to come home.

Many a night,
Were you ready for your bed,
But your bed not ready for you.

She would give of herself,
And ask not return, or eternity.
And what she'd offer, listen, oh, my brother,
Is as the wind to mercury.

And she'd hold not, of another man.
No other shall there ever be.
And whom she would hold,
Listen, oh, my brother,
Is as the wind to mercury.