Tiny Bombs

Tiny bombs and bigger waves Across your salty sea Brace yourself or what the hell Which one will it be? Out of joy, and what's the point? Is it ain't and drying paint Mouth sounds, blood hounds, look what we've found Some meaning on a scrap of tape Are you burrowing through to some glowing core Or shuffled off and side-tracked along the way Breathing layers of paydirt and banner wavers The clutter that is everyday But tiny bombs and bigger waves Across your once glassy sea And what's it worth for a stupid song? This is what, this is what haunts me How honest can I be?