Without a pole star and wherries to take us home.
The retrospection speaks ever so high-powered;
'Fall into relapse oh my son,
we all relapse,
learn from its beat,
make life your own,
leave me out of it,
us you will leave alone.'
Quiet I am,
since sky first rose over me,
and a murder of you, and the near-dead experiences,
without music and life I fell,
endlessly,
from this beast I banish into brine,
outside,
wandering without bounds and a relationship,
I hung atop of the pine,
still under the giants and wind;
swirling, through grass, straws and mellow homes,
the one and only, black-sheep of this horde,
abandon the field,
for the orange hills in me are dead,
and between peaks and sea,
await no longer, the watcher is gone,
the distance wounded and forever lost,
the entire, a mountain range,
ah the shepherd now roosts upon,
missing,
dead I am,
I rove no more,
I have the remoteness to conk out,
and to dredge the last of me,
a pounce, an edging of this stream,
stop this oh dear,
despondent you shall be,
let the heartland cease its beat,
these pounding drums,
the mechanism attached,
they are too loud for living,
noiselessly,
stop him, girl,
the clamorous lifeline of us,
shall be muting and at rest,
now, come on, girl,
do not be frightened,
let us depart with cheerfulness,
without lodestars and lightnings.
'Fall into relapse oh my son,
we all relapse,
learn from its beat,
make life your own,
leave me out of it,
us you will leave alone.'
Quiet I am,
since sky first rose over me,
and a murder of you, and the near-dead experiences,
without music and life I fell,
endlessly,
from this beast I banish into brine,
outside,
wandering without bounds and a relationship,
I hung atop of the pine,
still under the giants and wind;
swirling, through grass, straws and mellow homes,
the one and only, black-sheep of this horde,
abandon the field,
for the orange hills in me are dead,
and between peaks and sea,
await no longer, the watcher is gone,
the distance wounded and forever lost,
the entire, a mountain range,
ah the shepherd now roosts upon,
missing,
dead I am,
I rove no more,
I have the remoteness to conk out,
and to dredge the last of me,
a pounce, an edging of this stream,
stop this oh dear,
despondent you shall be,
let the heartland cease its beat,
these pounding drums,
the mechanism attached,
they are too loud for living,
noiselessly,
stop him, girl,
the clamorous lifeline of us,
shall be muting and at rest,
now, come on, girl,
do not be frightened,
let us depart with cheerfulness,
without lodestars and lightnings.