The d arkest sense I get when I'm in the o pen
When the g round beneath my feet starts falling aw ay
The c old cold press I find when I'm sick and s oulless
Or the w armth I feel at the end of a damp cigar ette
There must be something in the w ater
That keeps me from d rowning
Something in the t ide
That pulls me a way
Af raid to run my mouth incase my words es cape me
C autious when I speak scared of what I might say
H ang me out to dry when the wars are all o ver
C over me in red and send me a way
The m isery I carried to keep me some c ompany
Is it l ost on me when I don't have that much to s ay
There must be something in the w ater
That keeps me from d rowning
Something in the t ide
That pulls me a way
Well something in the w ater
That keeps me from d rowning
Well something in the t ide
That pulls me a way
O oooo oh Som ethi ng
There must be something in the w ater
That k eeps me from d rowning
S omething in the t ide
That p ulls me a way
S omething in the w ater
That k eeps me from d rowning
S omething in the t ide
That p ulls me a way
There must be something in the w ater