A breath between potato chips A glass of water between cigarettes A break from balance and returning yet A break in stride with loaded bets A long jog down the middle road A pawn shop where we could levy our souls A calm pond ripe for skipping stones Man, who knew that we could be so bold We can still be found, for we know we are both finders But we will not be bound, cause we both know what happens to binders How they get stuffed into plastic totes, Slid under the bed And we both know that to end up there, well, we'd rather be dead See we are not our exes We are not our expectations We are not merely to be bodies between negotiations We are not estranged We are no longer even strangers We are not to be judges And we are not to be changers But we can still be found For we know we are both finders But we will not be bound, cause we both know what happens to binders How they get stuffed into plastic totes, slid under the bed And we both know that to end up there, well, we'd rather be dead