A bit of glass in his hand...,
Helped those brittle bones keep walkin' out.

A lake at the bottom of all that he was,
They said "You'll soon forget it all."
"..You'll just grow out of it."

Living in darkness,
The deep end could never be
Close enough                  
                   Close enough.

He could stomach the running,
But the rye took his money
Away from him

He doesn't care if he's hungry.
The past fills him up like
Champagne.

So he asked,

"What good is water, if it's not on fire?"

"It helps so much."
                           "...so much..."
                                     "...so much."

Dancing in puddles,
Every shallow wave breaking him.
Here come the whispers;
Run River, Run.


"Just,..."
"...Just one more glass and then..."