Lost upon an island of dreams,
off the coast of utter insanity,
I break apart from the pack,
as to where I wander, alone.
Underlining the dying of one’s hope,
Lest we prepare for war, if not
For the troubles, we seek to note—
A boat I require to set sail once more.
Washed ashore from a broken spirit,
Can you hear it, the voice of reason?
But it may as well be a kind of treason,
A season of ash and distraught doom.
May such a gloom be brought to justice
But on such an occasion as this
May we find bliss, and live in peace
And at least I may find comfort.
Amongst the dirt of the forgotten land
Where man shall forget all his worries
That which hurry to destroy one’s self
And on a shelf, my heart remains.
Waiting for her to arrive in plain sight,
Where the bright night sky shines,
As the waters flow, amongst the bough
Of a living soul—whereas my goal,