Undertow

Looking back at the sea submerges all my pain,
I watch it swallow sand and spit it back out
and the sound is like a cure to this sick, sick disease.
What do I feel? It's nothing like I've ever felt
and the moonlight glows and I feel so alone.
I am the raging undertow, the force of the ocean.
I want you back, then I get rid of you again.
I never want to let you go,
but I'm never sure of what I want
and I don't want you to become another wasted Atlantis,
another memory consumed by the angry undertow.
Once you're caught, you'll be gone until you're back
and once you're back, you'll only get thrown out again.
I'm sick of this back and forth bullshit,
I don't wanna watch the sea any longer.
These waters aren't an elixir to misery, it's an accompany
and I'm just soaking up all this sadness contained
in its foamy waves, draining all the memories left behind
so I'll let the undertow take it away,
at least for a while. I'll have no pain for a while
until it hits me again, and over and over and over again.
I'll look back at the sea,
I'll become the sand, become the victim time and time again.