Time loses its meaning, if in between sunrise and sunset it’s bright enough, thus like it enough that the surfer can get the enough wave speed to ride into the ocean.
Tonight, from a room only Dickens could love
Wearing moth-eaten sweaters and gloves
We will open the window and feel an on-shore wind
Grab our boards from the back of our van
Paddle out ’til we can’t see the sand
Spin around and drop into the wave we hope will never end