The seams split from the land to the sea

And dreams of still waters die

The lie of open arms disintegrates

In the slither of the lullaby 

Of reasons and rhymes set to rock us to sleep

But sheep are aimless in a boundless heath

And see no route so dreaded fate ensues 

As the ocean follows the moon

And soon we’ll all be keeping score

Strike one and two, strike three and four

Disarrayed isolation and choked by grief

And then, where will we be?