The mind is angry
The body is weak
The breath is shallow
The soul still weeps

Broken, shattered, lost, and gone
The earth’s decay and a mighty yearn
The gateway to end, the spiral down
Another way out to escape the sound

Sand burns the eyes so wet
Tears of salt sting the skin
The nerves scream and turn bright red
And the heart quickens within

Scary needles and ticking clocks
Restless bumps and dancing rocks
An island of misery surrounded by grief
The closest land missing in the reef

Choppy waters with sailors’ heads
Bob up and down with the sea’s dead
And the only thing that he ever said,
Was “Take an oar and mind the bed.”

Such hollow advice, but it thought twice
Concerning the cards and the dice
That life’s not so predictable
As long as you don’t mind mice.