I want to throw my phone at the bottom of an ocean
Corrupting salt for corrupting tears that stale my words
And choke my heart [without ever having appeared]

I would that it met the depths and reached the bottom
Cos I am still trying to get to the bottom of this
When pulled at the roots, the root reappears
Harder to pull as we further in years [please wise us to the sun]

I am in love with an idea, today with your ear
All mine to whisper in, to bite and tell you two tales of love
To contain my passion to show the love within my heart
If not poured out will drown itself amass

And inconsistency will be my epitaph.

This is my fear.