there’s a peculiar beauty to watching the world catch fire and living in the centre of flames
there’s an off-tone to the rose-colored glasses suddenly turned gold
the form of my waxed wings devouring my existence
what if singing sirens called me to the deceitful sea?
what if i was the sun to my own wings lingering in vulnerability to myself?

there’s a strange state in the air: the wither of life and the aching of death pushing my shoulders to sea
my cold, cold shoulder i turned against my father

there’s some truly pixelated gold surrounding my presence as the hotel my soul adopted falls to the trenches of the water

i fall in love with the in-between of life and death for a second or two or five

my arms flew and swung wide as my life was mapped and completed
i bounced with laughter
and i sunk into the swinging sea with great gaiety

and all of my flames were put out in an instant