There always seems to be some storm on my horizon,
To steal my heart from my chest,
To float it out to sea seems its quest.
I can only stand on that white sand,
And hope the crashing waves and dark ocean currents bring these desperate words to you.
My limited perceptions have always been simple explanations of the island I see.
To explain the trees, the grass, and my endless days of toil,
Would be just simple soul surgery that I would have to perform for you.
Brought to you by Eddie Cabbage