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© 2000 Aaron Traffas (BMI)
My twang caught up with me as I found my paradigm.
My accent didn’t cost enough.
I didn’t have a way to make it through the brine
to become the tide that she’s dreaming of.
She thinks about the ocean sometimes.
She misses the wind blowing in her hair.
She’ll always be a far off shore to me and mine.
Would my clandestine feelings take me there.
She swam out into the sea; she said she’s way too good for me.
I just mope on the shore with the rocks and the waves.
And what’s more, this metaphor is drowning me
and forcing a love under protest behave.
She’s got her own little archipelago.
She keeps the dock under lock and key.
She’s safe and sound from everyone she’s ever known.
This white-capped calamity is taunting me on the beach.