[Verse 1]
The wave hits the beach, writing words on the sand;
To the academic man, this could be the answer...
In fact, it's no more than a hunch and still we try to eat it -
I think we're all pretty out to lunch

[Verse 2]
The wave is out of reach, trailing words from the hand
Only air can understand
Semaphore on the shoreline
Waiting for distance to recede, unhappily imperfect
When we should be happy just to breathe

[Bridge]
But with each bated breath
So present, tense
We want to know
We want it sure
It don't make sense!
So I'll do mine and you do yours
But let's not trade sand and sea
For brick and cement

[Verse 3]
The wave hits the beach, laps around abandoned clothes
Wants to share a joke with those who'll brave the breakers
Who'll break bread rather than pray
While the definition-maker's
Lost in the small print of the day
Oh, the words are only pictures that the next wave wipes away