Lyrics of 'Fighting Fish' by Dessa

Swimming in a snifter, pretty as a picture
Don't get it twisted, man, her bite is a bitch
You can name, you can keep her
You never can take the fight out a fish

Chompin' at the drill bit, never one to still sit
You can test my metal
With a magnet and some tin snips
Ink test, all I see is canines and some wing tips
Pilot pen in pocket, I'm riding instinct and inkjets

Around here we don't like talk of big dreams
To stand out is a pride, a conceit
To aim high is to make waves, to split seams
But that's not what it seems like to me, cause
I wanna try, I wanna risk
I don't wanna walk, rather swing and miss

I'm not above apologies
But I don't ask permission
Got a lot of imperfections
But I don't count my ambition in 'em

Zeno's arrow never hits the mark
It's always hanging there over its shadow
Safe from battle, waste of archer's time and trouble
Waste of effort, waste of parts
If you don't aim for the center
It's a waste of the art

I didn't come looking for love
I didn't come to pick a fight
I didn't come to wave or take pictures
Pander to some benefactor, ring on every broken finger

Won't extend my wings to be clipped
I know the culture here is to stay humble, but shit
If we all go round bowed heads, button-lipped
If none of us go for the bell, then who is?

My mother says I've loved too many men
But I took and left something in every single bed
The rook can look left, right- just turns his head
But the knight might rise up, investigate the grid

Gender, genre- guess I'm on one, bent both
Just the constructs of the old word gone broke
Women, children, let me tell you
I've been both and it's a myth
We all swim for the life boats

I didn't come looking for love
I didn't come to pick a fight
I come here every night to work
And you can grab an axe, man
Or you can step aside

Zeno's arrow never hits the mark
It's always hanging there over its shadow
Safe from battle, waste of archer's time and trouble
Waste of effort, waste of parts
If you don't aim for the center
It's a waste of the art

Self-taught, self-made, bet, self-styled
Self saw, self came, self took island of converts
Too conquer is old school
We march 'em in converse
Just armed with their own tools

While my knees still flex
While my joints hold steady
Mind sharp, spine straight
Chucks laced, ready

I travel by kite, travel light, at touch down
I swallow the dice, I make my own luck now

Zeno's arrow never hits the mark
It's always hanging there over
Its own shadow in the dark
Its own shadow in the dark