There is grass between my bare toes, there is heat on the back of my neck, and your sweaty hand is resting in my sweaty hand, but neither of us let go. That is all, nothing is spectacular.
Does something work here? Is there something that works? Will someone tell me? Is there something that works? Is there someone who cares? Is there someone who cares for the wandering night?
This is a question of whom to blame And how we make our money. This is a question of how much shame We are willing to endure, For a word that is only that, A pretence of a feeling.
Were you eaten by sharks, I would be sad, You would not be sad, You would be dead, So avoid the sharks, I don’t feel like being sad For the sake of a full shark.