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Come What May
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The City on the Coast
How long have we been chasing daylight?
It feels like weeks upon months upon years.
We've stood, and braved, the cliffs and the sea.
Our limbs our bound by our mistakes and our fears.
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Every step that we take, to the city on the coast,
Is a procession of ghosts
[A funeral procession of ghosts].
And we carry her body, as if it is holy.
Or rather, holier than most
[At least more holy than most].
And there are cowards in our numbers
Who feign, and weep
No better than those they mock,
But even parasites have teeth.
And every wave that crashes the shore,
Is a blow against my ribs.
Her voice was lover's touch, sweet fruit,
Red as the scarlet on her lips.
To the children condemning her touch
Your voices have done harm
One mistake, a thousand times
But the sea waits with open arms.
The measure of a man
Is not what riches he's found
Everyone's fighting a war.
Lay your armor down.
Everything, everything
Grows in it's intricate way,
Her body and mine now embrace.
Soul free, my body to take.
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