Catfish

C G F Am C G F Am Crave, desolate, you dive in, we follow along. I contrive you with whiskey and Sam Cooke songs and we lay on our backs, soaking wet below a static tv set. Conversation flows, counting shooting stars and catfish, Am G but I'll never make a wish. Same for Verse 2 until Outro C F G F We stick to our slow motion memory. It's 1 in the morning and 90 degrees and though now it is hovering darkly over me, it'll look just like heaven when I get up and leave. Am G You're a ghost and I can't breathe.