Tiny Bombs

Tiny bombs and bigger waves
Across your salty sea
Brace yourself or what the hell
Which one will it be?

Out of joy, and what's the point?
Is it ain't and drying paint
Mouth sounds, blood hounds, look what we've found
Some meaning on a scrap of tape
Are you burrowing through to some glowing core
Or shuffled off and side-tracked along the way
Breathing layers of paydirt and banner wavers
The clutter that is everyday

But tiny bombs and bigger waves
Across your once glassy sea
And what's it worth for a stupid song?
This is what, this is what haunts me

How honest can I be?