| Each day starting the same
|
| Terminal waste and my world’s a screen
|
| Exhaust, permanent rain
|
| Gray is the taste of this restless sleep
|
| But there in the distance
|
| Through the sun and the spray
|
| Path of least resistance
|
| In the arms of the waves…
|
| Song from deep in the sea
|
| Some melody tells me it’s alright
|
| Waist-deep, bury my dreams
|
| Radiant blues to the blackest night
|
| I want to windsurf
|
| Through the sun and the spray
|
| Never feel winter
|
| Or these vanishing days
|
| Gliding wistfully, a paper plane
|
| Skipping through the crashing waves
|
| I’ll follow blindly
|
| All the teachings of the tide
|
| That look in your eyes
|
| Of sparkle and sky
|
| I’ll follow blindly
|
| All the teachings of the tide
|
| That look in my eyes:
|
| Abandoned desire
|
| Of terror acquired
|
| Sundown, hesitant rays
|
| Lie in the shade, still the world’s a screen
|
| Foot-deep, failing to say
|
| Sailing to fade from this restless sleep
|
| I want to windsurf
|
| Or some other way
|
| To never feel winter
|
| Or these vanishing days
|
| Tropical notions
|
| In vague disarray
|
| But I can’t stand the ocean
|
| So I file it away |