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    Provisionally eyed
    Practically alive
    Mistook sign for signified
    And so sins have often tried
    To run him off a cliff like gadarene swine
    Inside my wardrobe seem anchor bent
    Wondering whether we were someone better then
    Or maybe just better able to pretend
    And what better means to our inevitable end?
    You know?
    I don't know if I know
    Though some with certainty insist
    No, certainty exists
    Well, I'm certain enough of this
    In the past fourteen years
    There's only one girl I've kissed

    And the blistering heat of the Asbury peer
    We sat quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel
    You're looking down at the water, down at the sea
    I asked her "did that ever occur in fantasy?"
    "Where you pushed little kids from the tops of the Ride?"
    Then she shook her head "no", I said "oh, neither do I"
    And with my Grandma's ring, I went down on one knee
    And the subsequent catastrophe has since haunted me

    Like a fibreglass ghost
    To ask of my inconveniently selective memory
    Forgetfully you
    Mercifully withdrew
    All the bearing points we thought we knew
    Days run, days set clock
    Our calm is shot
    We sailed waywardly on
    Singing our midnight archer songs
    Until well past dawn
    It's still dark on the deck of our boat
    Haphazardly blown
    Broken bows, our aimless arrow words
    Don't mean a thing
    Tonight I think it's pretty obvious that there's no God
    And there's definitely a God

    I dreamt on the rocks at the asbury dune
    That you jumped from the top of the log flume
    And they gather like wolves on the boardwalk below
    They're howling for answers, no, wolf can know
    I charged at the waves with a glass in my hand
    I was tossed like a ball at the bottle stand
    And I landed besides your remains on the stone
    Where your cold finger, wrapped round my ankle bones
    Maybe ten feet away was a star
    Thousands of times the size of our sun
    Exploding like party balloons

    Slept until our chest was full
    Of yarn we, spun from Shetland wool
    Socks from where the Dorset grows
    Sheared and scoured hours
    Before the rooster crows
    The price of German silver fell
    Threw this huge tailors down
    The superstition well

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