À Marée Haute

Okay, it's over. I stink of defeat
My body sloshes with the ebb and flow
Whose fault is it? At high tide

Cornwall so close, the mists of England
A lighthouse flashes, sobs its melancholy
I drink the cup
At low tide

By what heroic death could I redeem myself?
I hear your cynical laughter on the beach of the drowned
If you don't love me anymore, I don't love myself anymore

Dead man's beach, I stink of defeat
Smell of mud, seaweed, and light rain
Sea spray slaps me, the broken wheel
I'll be there where your sarcasm will no longer touch me
I'll be there on the beach of the hanged

If you don't love me anymore, I don't love myself anymore
I don't love myself anymore
I don't love myself anymore