trying to nail down your taste
but not to do it in haste
all the effort a waste
we are stood by the edge of the water
we are stood at the reach of the tide
all of the things that oughtta
do are corrupting inside
all of the weight of the wait
the predigestion procrastinate
moving from some worked out fate
into the stagnate of hate
all of the times that i thought
i might have told you my feelings were fraught
and all of it fell to naught
this life became something not bought
where do you go with the pieces all cracked inside?
there is nothing to do but surrender them all to the tide
death rides a pale horse and the seas horses are white
washed away, dragged away from the swell of the fight