On a winding stair, that leads particularly nowhere
each flight we save, to be lost is grave
the winds they flee, over a starry sea
and our hands are clutched, our hearts in touch

As a wisp of a cloud, flits sultrily by
and the yawning wave, wets our toes, and tries
to lure us in, to the hungry waters within
where doom is us, should we look in its eyes

We lay awake, gleaning much from the sky
she seems subdued, the sands softly sigh
a dragonfly dodders by, so slowly alive
we stare at nothing, as it stirs inside