| He offered her the world, but came up short | 
| The nastiest of storms made him settle on a city with a port | 
| He watched ships sail by in the middle of July | 
| He wrote notes on paper boats, sat and waited for replies | 
| Hope floats, even when it’s on fire | 
| Especially when it’s on fire, but the smoke makes him tired | 
| Took a blade to the chest like he was opening a body bag | 
| «Sir he’s still alive in there"well Christ then, remove the tag | 
| What’s it say? | 
| It says «Fold along the lines | 
| And set me free,"not on fire, cause oftentimes | 
| When I set myself free, this empty | 
| Bag of a body tends to get burned in effigy | 
| I’ve lost the energy to fight off the flames | 
| I blow it off like it’s all just a game, all the same | 
| Wish he wouldn’t write himself out of the picture | 
| It’s a beautiful lotion that you got | 
| When there’s someone there to share it with you | 
| This is why she can’t have nice things | 
| He was too caught up in work to sign for the nice deliveries that life brings | 
| Now he can’t tell if he’s dead or not | 
| He said, «I bet I am, and I can prove it."She said «you better not» | 
| This is why she can’t have nice things | 
| Because talk is cheap and it was poor communication | 
| All he wanted to say, on the dock that day | 
| Was «I love you, and I’m sorry,"but instead, he just waved | 
| Good bye, and he cried, love | 
| So much he watched the waters rise up | 
| It must have been a changing of the tides, but I’ve come to assume | 
| It was the changing of a mind, once upon a blood moon | 
| They skimmed rocks for the whole day | 
| He imagined he was throwin' rotten parts of himself that broke away | 
| So he couldn’t stop, fascinated by the way they skip up top | 
| Give up and then drop, he sank with them | 
| They convened on the rock bottom and made a decision | 
| They could never raise children, not like this | 
| Not like people who make babies on purpose | 
| That’s when he came to the surface, fully intending | 
| To be so strong in his resolve, 'til all of it dissolves | 
| Slippin' through his pruny fingers like this could’ve been ours | 
| But this is to the offers that can’t be followed through with | 
| The water works, the leaky faucet still lost fluids | 
| To the current of the stream that’ll always push you from me | 
| To the reoccurring dream that makes reality less ugly | 
| In a picturesque setting, where the world looks airbrushed | 
| Needless to say, words failed us | 
| On the dock that day, all I wanted to say | 
| Was «I love you, and I’m sorry,"but instead, I just waved | 
| Good bye, and I cried, love | 
| So much I watched the waters rise up | 
| It must have been a changing of the tides, that was breaking up our lives | 
| It was a water raged wrinkling time | 
| Yessir, minds are made for the changing, but mine’s been deterioratin' | 
| Like the bluffs in the shoreline, where I’ve been waitin' too exhale | 
| Since the summer when we watched every last one of our friends set sail | 
| And I was the only livin' boy left in Providence | 
| Collecting death certificates from the rest of my documents | 
| Just for origami purposes, I gave 'em to the ocean | 
| But hey, look at me, I’m great at foldin' | 
| Guess I’ll just do this the rest of my life | 
| It’s got to do with lots of lovin', and it ain’t nothin' nice | 
| This is why she can’t have nice things | 
| He was too caught up in work to sign for the nice deliveries that life brings | 
| This is why she can’t have nice things | 
| Because talk is cheap and it was poor communication | 
| This is why she can’t have nice things | 
| He set fire to the paper boat sonatas he’s been writin' | 
| And this is why, I assume the moon’s bleeding | 
| And why there wasn’t any blood left in the rock he was squeezing |