I struggle to find the comforting kind of,
Misinterpreted horizon line.
With the soil cracked beneath my feet,
And the sun giving up its taste of things;
Well this tangible desire loses speed.
So set sail with me, on a dusk grey morning,
Where paper birds move like engines-
This boat has no shoreline, the water is still,
and any wind left in caprice; unsettled.
I heard the city calling so I guess that's why I came,
It isn't my place to question what it said,
But I'll walk around in circles
Until there's nothing left to tread and I'll say,
Everybody's looking for an answer,
Everybody's looking for some kind of break,
Well I came and I was bored of it soon after,
But I had no place else to go so I stayed.
This is my trail of thought and It's an awkward system,
A callous dilemma to be playing on the brain,
This is a sunset in a solemn way,
Oil falls from the clouds ears, and mouths foil.
Like an empty hospital corridor, lips wrap around themselves
Stumbling on words already unsaid. Patterns fall;
And my diction coils, into a thousand missing pieces.
Well you and me, we are but the scenery,
So why would it stop so suddenly?
I let my conscience rot and evaporate-
Into the air that has returned. Our boat sinks.
The morning fills my mouth up with decay,
And that just seems like an awful thing to waste,
The city called to me, so I came,
But I'm sure, as I recall,
I don't remember you at all.