The sea is a sheet I want to sleep underneath, beyond the mountains, that are jagged broken bones of locusts.
I feel the undertow pull my spirit out through my toes, it's shallow near solid ground, but it's deep where the sun goes down.
Don't you worry darling, the tide will take us home, it won't feel as though its been 6years living on sunlight.
Retreat to your hole, you left your fangs outside the trap door, so I carried the thread past the poor, I left a trail from the source, now when the village burns, it knows where to turn.
The old man magician, drew his ink, with the symbolic superstition, of all that was there before, and proceeded with protection. He sees the devil on Tv, and he sees the devil in material things.
We wear our face like there's something better, when it's from a mould we were chosen to own. Now for our bodies, to who do we owe? We are children of the stars, and its not just light in the sky, it's a dark sheet with tiny holes. You never existed in this world, it was just my imagination, because mine can create adoration.
The shadow was of a cross, but the man was just bones, so we all threw stones, the exploding dust were the memories, of all the philosophies, right infront of me.