These words do not run out my fingertips,
Like the roller-coaster sometimes dips,
And the shore runs to the ocean, the skyline eats the sea,
No one can guard me from the ocean, and no one can guard the ocean from me.
If I could eat all the stories, you know I believe I would,
But then I turn to the sun, and I wonder if I should,
For the sun is eating the clouds, and he will never be full,
And I could sit in the daisies, content with my pocketful.