Even if we let our washed up feet know that we're always watching, we can climb back into the sea; an underground ship and a baby that can't help but lie. She was alright, but with all the other guys, she blows away. 

I can say hi when I want to, and I can listen when I'm done pretending to care. At the bottom of my well with my volcano of a soul, an independent thought that no one believes, I'd like to try to move from my dusted spot; a mantle in my bedroom. She was nice, but when I tried to speak, she broke away. 

There's a persons grasp that's always trying to hold on to an old feeling. There's an airport runway with a car on it. I'm a great pioneer with no work left to do, and a doorway with no patience.