I feel like I'm in a rip, it's pulling me out to sea,
I feel like I'm in a rip, but it's where I want to be.
On the shore I see my friends, they're waving me back in.
I needn't swim, though, for I know how rips work.
In and out. I'll be back around soon.
So for a sweet glisten, I stand upon the shore, I laugh with my friends,
But then go back for more. I do fancy this merry-go-round.
Sometimes I wish the rip ran straight, into the beckoning cold.
It'd take me somewhere I like to be, away from anything that was, me.
But to let it take me, how could I know, if there'd be rips where I should go.