The temptation that the Siren sings,
A slow wave back from shore,
The sorrow that tomorrow brings,
A hundred days, a thousand more,
Casting lines of smoke and steam,
In search of great white whale,
The tragedy with which we dream,
The grace with which we fail,
A map carved upon a liar’s tongue,
Teach us to speak, but never say,
White knuckled on bottom rung,
From which we swing and sway,
As laughter consumes the setting sun,
Those echoes keep us company,
The first regret tells us we’ve just begun,
The last reminds us we’re still free,
But we awake to find familiar coasts,
Ships still bottled on their shelves,
And we realize we’re all just ghosts,
That don’t believe in themselves.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:32 PM UTC
The temptation that the Siren sings,
A slow wave back from shore,
The sorrow that tomorrow brings,
A hundred days, a thousand more,
Casting lines of smoke and steam,
In search of great white whale,
The tragedy with which we dream,
The grace with which we fail,
A map carved upon a liar’s tongue,
Teach us to speak, but never say,
White knuckled on bottom rung,
From which we swing and sway,
As laughter consumes the setting sun,
Those echoes keep us company,
The first regret tells us we’ve just begun,
The last reminds us we’re still free,
But we awake to find familiar coasts,
Ships still bottled on their shelves,
And we realize we’re all just ghosts,
That don’t believe in themselves.
