Far away at the bottom of the sea
Tiny little bubbles slipping away
We made our home in the old sea torn barrel
While the fish and the white time passed us by
From shell to shell we hopped
Outgrowing, sleeping around
Then we found that the old sea torn barrel
Was still anchored into the corral floor
We dreamed that far away above the sea
There were places to sleep away the days
Where the stinging sea salt smells sweet
Far away past the crabs and the corral reef
Thirty thousand leagues; I’ve heard it rumored
A place where the sea salt dries and turns to sand
Dry feet in the very best kind of way
In the sea torn barrel we slept
The bubbles retreating to Shangri-La
We imagined them rising from the waves
Dried and warmed in the sun’s eyes
Lying in the sand somewhere with dry skin
We would follow if not for the comfort
Of the sea salt and the cold waters