Waist deep - hands on the water.
A little boy is wading, just laugh it off.
Could it be a shadow of anxiety reaching out?
I want a cure but I don't want to listen.
Sometimes I still feel so dry.
I descend, don't know what I'm missing...
That's why I'm calling for you.

Sometimes I'd rather be a good memory
But I won't be there to comfort you.
Months pass, the pool is dry and I can still will myself.
The cold air, the rain, and a simple twist of taste.

We've been treading deep,
But that's something that we laughed off,
And I'm almost through with hoping and youth.