when we get back to winthrop a few miles from the airport on a plastic chair on a deck where my friends live i watch the taking off airplanes i watch the ocean waves crashing i know with all of this movement something s got to give down at the high tide passed down through the family the fishermen gather to complain about the catch and they talk about time and they talk about tides the pull of the moon and the coffee deep night black and i listen to them and i listen to you and for someone there is something never coming back well for all that we ve been through for all that we ve promised your wayward direction seems insensible words fall off like breathless fish all flopping and scattered and hearts picked over deemed dispensable down at the high tide we re there for our last meal the broken loaves are still enough for all when we talk about time we talk about tides under the moon with the deep night coffee black and i hear the dim roar of the last flight out and for someone there is someone never coming back we talk about time we talk about tides under the moon with the deep night coffee black when i hear the dim roar of the last flight out and for someone there is someone never coming back