There is an old house I know that stands

just by the sea, with green trimming and white, white walls.

It's stood a hundred years, and by God's grace I hope a hundred more.

It's seen a thousand faces, and felt a thousand feet,

and heard a thousand voices, laughter raised unto to the stars.

I've loved this house — not always as I should

— and there is no doubt, that it has loved me back.

Memory, now, must its address be,

for, it does not belong to me.

...

Sand and water, blood and bone,

wood and salt that's been carried on the breeze —

and you, always you, the smile on your face

and the twinkle in your eye.

You're the one I truly love,

but you also loved the house —

how, then, can I not do the same?

...

But you are gone, and so is the house

we both and all have loved.

Good-bye, good-bye, to you, and to the old house I know

that stands just by the sea. It is no longer mine.

Good-bye, good-bye, I cry; the last farewell.

It is no longer mine.