You washed ashore to sweat soaked floors
And carved your name in their tattered beach logs
And now you’ve sucked the air from my lungs
But the waves can beat against the tide
Your call brings storms, of this I’m sure
But refuge comes in the throes of humble pastures
I’ll walk them, I’ll walk them
Even if it means that I’m alone
Where are those earthy chords
Where are the mud-caked throats
I’ll scratch out your lines
They’re not in the words you wrote
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