How Do You Know

You said you'd hate to see me drown in the river.
I've got news for you sister,
I don't want to either.

You said the size of the buildings will dwarf me,
and the shadows with cloak me,
and the fumes will choke me.

You said I never even tried one time.
How do you know?
How do you know I never?

Maybe the sights will make me star-struck.
Maybe you're right:
I'll come unstuck,
and run out of luck.

But maybe I'll use the shadows to shade me,
use the river to float me,
and be the blood that runs through me.

You said I never even tried one time.
How do you know?
How do you know I never?