when we get back to winthrop

a few miles from the airport

on a plastic chair 

on a deck where my friends live

i watch the taking off airplanes

i watch the ocean waves crashing

with all of this movement something's got to give



down at the high tide

passed down through the family

the fishermen gather to complain about the catch

they talk about time

they talk about tides

the pull of the moon and the coffee deep night black

and i listen to them

and i listen to you

and for everyone there is something never coming back



but for all that we've been through

for all that we've promised

your wayward direction seems insensible

words fall off like breathless fish

all flopping and scattered

and hearts picked over deemed dispensible



down at the high tide

we're there for our last meal

the broken loaves are still enough for all

and we talk about time

and we talk about tides

under the moon with the deep night coffee black

i hear the dim roar of the last flight out

and for someone there is someone never coming back



we talk about time

we talk about tides

under the moon and the deep night coffee black

i hear the dim roar of the last flight out

and for someone there is someone never coming back