Hear the sirens call. They say, “this ship was built to wreck, but you don’t have to drown with the rest of them.” Haunted by fleeting glimpses of angelic silhouettes; such brief bursts of light blind by hope, not fear. They sing not for the final outcome, but for how they tried. They wipe the sweat from your brow, take the load from your shoulder, and offer you a steady hand. They speak of things like distance and meaning, but all you hear is the empty spaces their words are leaving. The water has already overtaken the dam. The fire is burning out of control. They’ve cried wolf so many times before, can you really trust it anymore? Overtaken by words bent on breaking, right as the waterline recedes, forget everything you want, give everything they need.