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We’re from a place where the sidewalk ends. Where the black hole kids are swapping blood with their friends. But the mermaids rot, and our bodies ache, and we’re putting bends deep inside the break. They’re catching sharks off the pier tonight. Great white fear on a full moon night when you call me up, tell me a joke about the lump they have to cut from your throat. Trouble is on the rise. That bad moon looks like it wanna die. When does it bend? How does it break? If the world’s just a lover that takes and takes? Well, where’s the line between the young and whatever else that we become? They’re catching sharks right off the pier. You call me up and tell me things I don’t want to hear. “If you could do it again, yeah, would you do it again? Yeah, Would you do it the same?” Well, I never asked for this life. Kicking and screaming and angry but now I don’t want to die. So if you want me, go ahead and try me. Try me. Try me. You and what army? It circles ’round. It pulls us down. No, I ain’t gonna drown. Go ahead and try me. Try me. We are not afraid. Not every bend—no—becomes a break. We’re treading water. We’re feeling lucky. We’re feeling fine.