Death Is Not Glamorous The Sea Speaks
The lights are too bright. The city so loud that I can't sleep.
And these hands ache to hold, but certain things stay
out of reach. They're not meant to keep. No matter how
tight your grip. They will inevitably slip. So even though
it kills you to, you've got to let them slip. The part of you
that dies might just be the part that also keeps you alive.
You'll never falter where you stand.
If you're not in motion, you won't fall,
but what you're holding will not stay in your hand.
Anchored to events. Anchored to the past tense. Stuck on
dry land. Can you stay chained up in this life, to history?
I'm asking, can you settle for less?
You'll never falter where you stand.
If you're not in motion, you won't fall,
but what you're holding will not stay in your hand.
Mark my words. Speak to me. In reflections and crashing waves.
They'll run you through unless you accept their change. Ocean air.
Breath deep. These moments are fleeting, the blink of an eye
and they're gone. You can only hold your breath for so long.
The past is set in stone. The present is tense. But the future's torrential.
We will erode. We can't know, like the ocean's rise and fall.
There are patterns here, but so unpredictable.
Like mountains; small stones to avalanches.
Time will touch us all.
