It is not yet time for our infinite era of melancholy
We, still firmly rooted to soul, strive as we pull the undertow
And sting when the tide washes in to touch our wounds
Healing and redealing energy throughout us
Our roots are succumbing quickly to vapidity
We’re losing meaning for comfort
And it hurts me to see the water fleeing
And the dry promise of an unforgiving desert appearing forevermore
Ahead.
We must find a sailboat, and create ripples
We must make the world know that culture still breathes
And invigorates us so
We must let the world know.
Or give me leave, through wrinkles in time
Or a burning hole in space.
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