I can see right through
this sea of lies we sail on
and what we travel to
might already be gone.
On the ocean floor
with the bottom feeders laughing
tectonic plates still shifting,
we seek what we are lacking.
Spectrum tinted grey
the colors we are missing
no Northern Lights so far away
no red lips I'll be kissing.
Tried to find my way
by the dim light of a candle
the sky is like a big T.V.
on a non-existent channel
When the rivers run dry
and the thirst of the world can't be quenched
I will let loose the gift from my veins
For to turn this broken steppe into rolling golden planes