A shoebox full of windswept years,
Folded smiles and silent tears.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours —
Just postcards from the quiet hours.
A dockside night strung with Christmas lights,
Where palm trees swayed like chapel chimes.
You laughed, you smiled, and the night turned still,
Like a postcard caught in time.
I nursed my nerves with liquid sun,
Southern Comfort, slow and steady.
I brushed your hand — the stars leaned in —
And I kissed you, nervous and unsteady.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours.
(oooh)
Snapshots carved in seaside stars.
The laughs, the tears, the sacred hours.
(aaah)
Tucked in time like island flowers.
They drift on breezes and old guitars.
(oooh)
Backyard lights shine like distant stars.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours…
(aaah)
Just postcards from the quiet hours.
We chased the coast in beat-up cars,
Danced barefoot in roadside bars.
Counted stars from motel stairs,
Sun-kissed skin and windblown hair.
Rain fell hard on our wedding day,
But love and laughter led the way.
Because you and me is what we are,
Young lovers off to chase a distant star.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours.
(oooh)
Snapshots carved in seaside stars.
The laughs, the tears, the sacred hours.
(aaah)
Tucked in time like island flowers.
They drift on breezes and old guitars.
(oooh)
Backyard lights shine like distant stars.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours…
(aaah)
Just postcards from the quiet hours.
We built a life on scattered toys,
On sleepless nights and joyful noise.
Toy trucks parked like broken carts,
Bedtime books and early starts.
We cheered through glass in frozen halls,
Saw wins and losses and icy falls.
The years flew fast in fridge art scenes,
Memories worn like old blue jeans.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours.
(oooh)
Snapshots carved in seaside stars.
The laughs, the tears, the sacred hours.
(aaah)
Tucked in time like island flowers.
They drift on breezes and old guitars.
(oooh)
Backyard lights shine like distant stars.
They're yours, they're mine, they're ours…
(aaah)
Just postcards from the quiet hours.
Now the house hums low in morning light,
Two coffee cups and endless quiet nights.
Our halls still ring with sounds of little feet,
Though years have made that silence sweet.
Your smile still shines, so bright and kind,
Always and forever my valentine.
I toast the life we loved and made,
Just postcards from a life well played.
They're tacked on walls and tucked in drawers,
Moments sealed behind memory's doors.
Laughter faded, edges curled —
Little snapshots of our world.
And if these quiet hours must end,
Know I'd do it all again.
No final score, no debts unpaid —
Just postcards from the life we made.