Texty: Wye Oak. Regret.

the floor will all cave in at ten o'clock
my tired body to absorb the shock
years of decay will make a mess of me
these rotted floor boards arch below my feet

the flood will take us when we're in our sleep
this city swallowed by the oceans deep
the ice will melt and then the seas will swell
but this is not a thing on which to dwell

there is nothing to regret