Stranger Hands Nightlab

In the clear you can hear the ocean
But every tide is washing up greater commotion
I admit I may have misspoken
But everything that you want is already broken

In the clear you can hear the ocean
Every tide is washing up greater commotion
I admit I may have misspoken
But everything that you want is already broken

These stranger’s hands
Wrapped round my sickly spine
In these troubled times I call out to you
What else can I do
But grow fat and rich off your currency
Oh, the pace I keep will catch up to me
Wait and see

It’s hard to see
And harder to breathe
Beneath the surf
Whatever sums
Whatever comes
It must converge
And under your dress
I may regress to infancy
And under, above
There is no love like lunacy