It's August and you force yourself to leave the house You walk to the water's edge, you walk past the parking lot Then you start to pontificate about all of the things You might be late for if you only showed up now It's a constant rearranging of all the things that never were You close your eyes, push against the bright sunlight You balance on the water, the shoreline blurs the day Then you start to pontificate about all of the things You might be late for if you only showed up now It's a constant rearranging of all the things that never were Of all the things, of all the things Of all the things, of all the things That never were That never were