I'm afraid to jump the gun
And express the welling tide of feeling
Because how can I?

You would drown.

Or run away from the flood of my arms
And curse yourself for approaching the shore.

So I mark off the edge, and warn against those who would swim.

But I want you. And I'm sick of this island.

Though it is safe and though I can do no harm here, I can't be satisfied with the messages you send; delivery by bottle.

Drunk on the words they contain, I need more from the source.

So I'll jump the gun, and suffer a shot to the foot of course.

Nick