my body aches of processions.
I guess that it ends,
the same way,
I am consumed by fear,
But when the falls become light,
and the water rises from the depth,
when the salt gets thick enough,
this thing in my eyes becomes the end of life itself.
and freezing in the water,
but I guess that's just the way it goes and I the very same,
I try not to think of meaning in my graces.
But when you step outside and the world alive,
you ask yourself did I die as a child,
and I guess I did.
the secondary motions of a boat,
by shadowed bay,
and the other side.
but when you need to speak it comes out crying,
and I can't feel wetness on my cheeks,
but the shallow grave is mine alone,
and you follow by the end of time.
let go of the thing you need to,
and the world is left in shadows,
but does it make a difference when the red comes to raise the cattle?
yet the thing in the world again and lightning to strike the willow,
dust and trees alike,
I'm left to be this way forever,
at least it feels that way.