Grey-colored glasses

There's a storm coming
From way down south
It taunts and swells and picks things up
And washes them away
Dragging up the eastern seas for centuries
This dark sea I grew up on
From the depths of our young souls
To the beaches down at Montauk

There's a storm coming
From way down south
It taunts and swells and picks things up
And washes them away
Lying in wait
We've been told for a century
It's coming to the place that I started
From the depths of our young souls
To the beaches down at Montauk

Retreat and return
Let the sea swallow us whole
The sentiment will swell in time
The riptide
Our bodies pressed against the ocean floor
Our bodies pressed against the ocean floor

No man decides the places we come from
It's love or hate
No sense of grace
Levees break and let us wash away