Songbirds sang, an angel cried
while I was strung out on the wind,
and I don't know time she died;
left wondering, full of sin.

Well, if this cloud buries
your soggy dreams
deep in the sea where
beginnings fade to ends.
I'll wait for you my friend
on the glass beach.

If I put that bullet through my brains
would I really be another cliche?
Or perhaps I would just fade.

The brine fell softly
   into a binding flare.
A mindfulness left him,
so instead of dying he
turned to flying,
and crashed into the moon.