I could mix your beer with salt,  
    and you would take it,  
    I could lie and say it’s not so bad,  
    and know you’d take it with a grain of salt.  


    When pouring over stories 'bout my dad,  
    I could promise no more tears,  
    and you would tell not to be so static.  

    you’d sail with me to the edge of France,  
    just to show me that the coast is clear,  
    that I don’t have to be so guarded,  
    nothing grows in salty waters,  
    and I should bloom,  
    and put all the grains of fleur de sel to shame,   
    despite my undermining father


    I think that’s sweet.  
    I think you’re sweet.  
    I think you could rival a spiced cider,  
    send it to an endless winter,  
    mulling over ways to bring new comfort,  


    One day you’ll find a new comforter.  
    I would never try to rival the  
    time you spend beside her,  
    but I hope you know I’ll be there for you too.  


    I’ll travel to the coast alone,  
    bring you back all you need, and more  
    to show you, you are worth your salt.  
    because,  
    well, what are friends for?