There will be laughs and also joyful twirls   Your painted toenails kicking in the sand   Lazy fish crisscrossing endless seas   Will lay their golden eggs right in your hand      When we become, when we become   When we become what we're running from      The storm clouds swallowed by the ocean sway   Will smell like watermelon and cut grass   We'll build a bonfire with whatever's dry   And leave our cold, wet bodies where they lay      When we become, when we become   When we become what we're running from