Wouldn’t it be nice if we were close? Or pretending that we were could kill the ghosts? Maybe I’d cooperate But I’m done and that’s not breaking news You cannot turn the volume down as you choose Somewhere in a house across the sea Maybe in a distant memory Now and then you reappear Out of nowhere like some ricochet Now you wade against the currents in our old bay
Shimmering underneath the sea Sentimental echoes spike my memory Hard to make believe nothing means anything to me
Rehashing the wounded patriarch On a tattered throne, with a broken hear From a home where you don’t earn your stripes You have to demand your rights But you’ll never win if you try
But in some corridor Flickers a poor stubborn light I can’t put it out or burn it down I cannot turn this ship around
We’re almost emptied out Sentimental echoes cynical with doubt Hard to make believe nothing means anything to me