Tiny Bombs

Tiny bombs and bigger waves

Across your salty sea

Brace yourself or what the hell

Which one will it be?

Out of joy, and what's the point?

Is it ain't and drying paint

Mouth sounds, bloodhounds, look what we've found

Some meaning on a scrap of tape

Are you burrowing through to some glowing core

Or shuffled off and side-tracked along the way

Breathing layers of paydirt and banner wavers

The clutter that is everyday

But tiny bombs and bigger waves

Across your once-glassy sea

And what's it worth for a stupid song?

This is what, this is what haunts me

How honest can I be?

How honest can I be?

How honest can I be?

How honest can I be?