Catfish - Waxahatchee

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