It's August and you force yourself to leave the house
You walk to the water's edge, you walk past the parking lot
Then you start to pontificate about all of the things
You might be late for if you only showed up now
It's a constant rearranging of all the things that never were
You close your eyes, push against the bright sunlight
You balance on the water, the shoreline blurs the day
Then you start to pontificate about all of the things
You might be late for if you only showed up now
It's a constant rearranging of all the things that never were
Of all the things, of all the things
Of all the things, of all the things
That never were
That never were
