When I lose myself, in the quiet, I go
I dig till the tin scrapes rock and Orr
Find soil in the sand and make it so
In my sign, unfound
Reach down into the well for a drink of cold
Pluck stars from the sky once young and align
It is not enough to claim these seas, my own which roll
And boats that turn on waves a dime
No
What I do in each moment is this
To the pit of my stomach I reach
I grind
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
When I lose myself, in the quiet, I go
I dig till the tin scrapes rock and Orr
Find soil in the sand and make it so
In my sign, unfound
Reach down into the well for a drink of cold
Pluck stars from the sky once young and align
It is not enough to claim these seas, my own which roll
And boats that turn on waves a dime
No
What I do in each moment is this
To the pit of my stomach I reach
I grind
Intimidating much?
