Catfish

Crave, desolate, you dive in, we follow along

And I contrive you with Whiskey and Sam Cooke songs

And we lay on our backs

Soaking wet below a static TV set

Conversation flows, counting shooting stars and catfish

But I'll never make a wish

Barefoot, parking lot

Getting high in Portland, Oregon

Echo 17 and we glue it back and poke fun

And it gets real quiet, I don't care

Darting with moonshine, truth or dare

I say it's what I'm thinking and second-guess instantly

And you laugh at me

You stick to our slow motion memory

It's one in the morning and 90 degrees

And though now, it is hovering darkly over me

It'll look just like heaven when I get up and leave

You're a ghost and I can't breathe