Catfish

Crave, desolate, you dive in, we follow along
I contrive you with whiskey and Sam Cooke songs
And we lay on our backs, soaking wet
Below a static TV set

Conversation flows
Counting shooting stars and catfish
But I'll never make a wish

Barefoot, parking lot, getting high in Portland, Oregon
Echo 17, we glue it back and poke fun
And it gets real quiet, I don't care
Darting with moonshine, truth or dare

And I say just what I'm thinking
And second guess instantly
And you laugh at me

We stick to our slow-motion memory
It's one in the morning and 90 degrees
And though now it is hovering darkly over me
It'll look just like heaven when I get up and leave
You're a ghost and I can't breathe