There's a blue rockin'chair,

sittin' in the sand.

Weathered by the storms,

and well oiled hands.

It sways back and forth,
with the help of the winds.

Seems to always be there,

like an ol' trusted friend.



I've read a lot of books, wrote a few songs.

Looked at my life, where it's goin', where it's gone.

I've seen the world, through a bus windshield.

But nothing compares,

to the way that I see it,

to the way that I see it,

to the way that I see it,

when I sit in that Old Blue Chair.



From that chair i've caught,

a few fish and some rays,

and i've watched boats sail,

in and out of Cinnamon Bay.

I let go of a lover,

that took a piece of my heart.

Prayed many times for forgiveness,

and a brand new start.



I've read a lot of books, wrote a few songs.

Looked at my life, where it's goin', where it's gone.

I've seen the world, through a bus windshield.

But nothing compares,

to the way that I see it,

to the way that I see it,

to the way that I see it,

when I sit in that Old Blue Chair.



That chair was my bed one New Years night,

when I passed out from too much Malibu and died,

and I woke up to a hundred mosquito bites. I swear.

Got 'em all sittin' right there, in that Old Blue Chair.



There's a blue rockin'chair,

sittin' in the sand.

Weathered by the storms,

and well oiled hands.