Lyrics

As I am skimming stones
Upon the surface of the lake
I watch for perfect weather
And I search for perfect shape
Your hand fits mine
Winter sunshine
Breaks upon the water
And then I throw an eight, an eight

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The wind begins to blow a breeze
Upon my perfect lake
And even little stones can make
The arms of grown men ache
Small wave tips stone
Sinks down alone
I am under the impression
I can only throw an eight, an eight

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When I am skimming stones
Upon the surface of the lake
It often seems the stones and me
Are not quite the right shape
This life is mine
At least sometimes
And on the days it isn't
I can always throw an eight, an eight

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