-
I do not exist, we faithfully insist,
Sailing in our separate ships and from each tiny caravel.
Tiring of trying, there's a unecessary dying,
Like the horseshoe crab in its proper season sheds its shell.
Such distance from our friends
Like a scratch across the lens
Made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood
And our paper blew away before we'd left the bay
So half-blind, we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood.
Caught me making eyes at the other boatman's wives,
And heard me laughing louder at the jokes told by their daughters.
I'd set my course for land, but you well understand,
It takes a steady hand to navigate adulterous waters.
Floating forgetfully along, with no need to be strong,
We keep our confessions long, but when we pray we keep it short.
I drank a thimble full of fire,
I'm not ever coming back...
Oh, my God.
