The weather's getting hotter every day, I wake up early in the morning light. My pillow's soaked beneath the back of my head, A damp little mark left behind overnight. It looked like a map when I stared at it, So I pulled an old world atlas from the shelf. Way down in the Pacific, far from everywhere, There was a tiny island that looked like it itself. And I drift away, with a piece of bread, And a cup of coffee that's almost gone. I can hear the waves where the blue sea spreads, Though I'm still right here where I belong. On that little island the wind still blows, Across white sand beneath a burning sun. Maybe it's hot there too, who knows? But for a little while, the day feels undone. For breakfast there's a leftover piece of bread, A single coffee stick from the bottom drawer. I stir it lightly, not too strong, Then unfold the map once more. Around that island stretches endless sea, Bright beaches shining under southern skies. Blue above and blue below, A distant paradise before my eyes. The waves roll in, the clouds roll in, And maybe rain comes falling too. The ocean turns a little wild, Beneath a darker shade of blue. I close my eyes and I can almost hear The surf against the heated shore. The sand, the sky, the open sea— I want nothing more. And I drift away, with a piece of bread, And a cup of coffee that's almost gone. I can hear the waves where the blue sea spreads, Though I'm still right here where I belong. On that little island the wind still blows, Across white sand beneath a burning sun. Maybe it's hot there too, who knows? But a small breeze finds me when the morning comes. A small breeze finds me when the morning comes.
