every bad man thinks that he can love her better
and every good man thinks that he can love her more

but the truth of it is
that her love is a fizz
just a foam that retracts from the shore

see, she never was too real to any
something like the wind, with a little more weight
just some womanesque vapor to many
'til the tides of the times called her fate

she wasn't as light as the ocean breeze
but she wasn't as real as the wave
I wish I'd evaded her motion, her tease
but fell down for her hard, I bowed down like a slave

then as soon as that femme and foamy omen
had tickled my senses so gentle
all the strength of a man that I had she took with
back to sea, to the stop of some transcontinental