soft suns sail across,

a red star-crossed sky,

and some night,

i won't know what it is.

souls shine, no less beautiful,

then those lights lost in their height,

came to me in tiny dreams,

the kind that try to let me breathe,

when the morning comes,

i wont know what they mean.

i could love a million things,

but not a single one would love me.

that's the maker's mark,

it's meant to be,

if only sober men could repeat the sea.

but surely that man isnt me.