Cormorant

You're readjusting deckchairs on the titanic
'Cause every other thought you have's constricted
Through a knot in a rope
I'm hanging down below in a shipping container
The radio's tuned to the sounds of static
My arms outstretched like the crucifixion
Or a cormorant drying its wings
Choking becomes automatic
Choking becomes automatic
How long did you lie there
Waiting to die?

I'm terrified of fast low-flying planes
But I'd rather be a thousand miles away
Passing ships in this modern death
Over sunsets we saw that didn't come out in the pictures
Shutter speed is automatic
Shutter speed is automatic
With my cold hands
Dragging us down

With trembling hands and aching fingers
I check my rusted apparatus a final time
Before descending bodily into the post-meridian tidal swell
(or another tedious analogy about sinking beneath the waves)

'If only you'd said'
What would i have said?
Nothing really comes to mind
I'm afraid
I can't hear you through the static
I'm afraid I'm dragging us down