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 We echo 17 and we glue it back and poke fun And it gets real quiet, I don't care Darting with moonshine, truth or dare 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 1 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