I do not exist, we faithfully insist
Sailing in our separate ships and from each tiny caravel
Tiring of trying, there's a necessary dying
Like the horseshoe crab in its proper seasons sheds its shell
Such distance from our friends like a scratch across a lens
Made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood
Our paper blew away before we'd left the bay
So half-blind we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood