Upon an island sits my soul.
Floating among the quivering
branches hidden with in the lull
I crouch, still and shivering.
Upon the waves turns my soul.
With cold waters dragging me deep
to a world through a rabbits hole
I flail, thrashing about and weep.
Upon those cufflinks wears my soul.
The jacket turned outward to face
the cold harsh winds taking their toll
I arch, pained and begin to brace.
Within the damp ground rest my soul.
With shelter against the raging
wind theres chance to warm by the coal
I lay, stretched no longer caging.