Soft siréne, you are. Lost and sad most of the time — all of the time.
Floating here, around there. Almost aimlessly, almost with no direction.
How can you see past the sea foam, sea salt, and tears?
Rain never gets to you the way it gets to the rest; you’re protected by the very
being of rain. (You cry so much.)
You wish you knew what the weather was really like.
The shore is okay, the shore is safe. It’s where you can be with the crowned-sun-bearer.
Always asking questions, soft petite siréne. Never prepared for the waves that crash
I know in your heart you wish to glide through growing grass, through rolling clouds,
through booming thunder.
But do you know how the birds see in the sky? Do you know how loud lions roar?
Don’t you want to feel the very ground they walk on?
Small siren, you cry so much. Petite siréne, you always reach for him. Petite siréne, he always has eyes for you. Petite siréne, he’s there for you. Petite siréne, he’s never leaving the shore.
I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.