Lyrics

[Verse 1]
I’ve been out where the sea meets the sky,
Living slow in the trade winds, learning how to get by.
Maui held me like a song I didn’t write,
Sweet on the surface, but lonely at night.
Now I’m looking back west with a bag full of days,
And a name I remember when the silence replays—
Tim.
He’s the kind who stays.

[Verse 2]
There’s a house in Prescott with a couch and a cat,
And a man who don’t talk too much about this or that.
But he sees what you’re carrying before you admit,
And he lets you unravel without fixing it.
He’s got long hair and a laugh that’s earned,
And a wisdom that don’t care how slow you’ve learned.
Tim.
He’s the one I trust.

[Chorus]
So maybe I’ll come back, drop anchor for a spell,
Where the desert knows my story and the quiet suits me well.
Where Katana’s on the windowsill, half shadow, half guard,
And the door’s never locked, though the road’s been hard.
I don’t need a rescue, just a place I can land—
And Tim’s got a room and a steady hand.

[Verse 3]
He plays guitar like the strings are old scars,
Like each note’s a confession wrapped in bars.
Doesn’t play for the praise, just the pulse and the tone,
Like he’s talking to ghosts when he plays alone.
And I’ve heard more truth in the bend of his chord
Than in all the damn sermons I once ignored.
Tim.
He don’t preach, he just plays.

[Bridge]
He gets cranky when the coffee’s weak,
And says more in silence than most folks speak.
But he’s shown up for me in ways I can’t name,
Without needing a spotlight, a ribbon, or fame.
I’ve been gone a while, and the world turned strange,
But Tim’s still Tim—and that don’t change.

[Final Chorus]
So I might trade the ocean for a sky turned red,
Sleep a while in the room where I once laid my head.
Let the quiet fill my chest like a hymn I forgot,
Let the past burn slow in the Arizona hot.
I’ve loved a lot of people, some faded, some true—
But Tim’s one of the rare ones you come back to.
Yeah.
Tim’s one of the rare ones
You come back to.