I hear the waters changing.
I can feel its pulse.
It’s getting nearer.
I need to focus.
The day will come.
When the days withhold.
To each his own.
I reach,
into the void.
To feel like home.
To each his own.
Will we,
understand the meaning of this?
I’m calling out.
I’m accused.
It breaks the branches.
It calls us home.
Anyway to make it one.
I hear it out there.
It gives me ideas.
The people don’t understand.
I see through the machinations,
that fill my head.
It never sleeps,
never blinks an eye.
I can start to feel it inside.
To each his own.
Will we,
see the end,
of the act?
I still fear God,
can we,
just admit it’s something,
not worth understanding?
I feel the waves,
beneath,
my shattered throne.
I stand accused,
of the ungodly Earth,
I created.
The war is won,
but I’m still accused.
