The moments crawl beneath the floors
where blood was spilled among the pours,
the flow would call in striking cries
at the blade that cuts the ties of stride.
Tails are sold for each gaze of eyes
one seldom to see the pouring
waters flowing from all directions
at the depth of a minds deep unknowing,
recollection is standing knee deep in the well
where the blinded are only lurking
gentle sounds of whispering trickles
madness within where sanity is working.
And it would seem again we are here to stay
where the music is loud as they stomp the parade
down the alley streets with the dogs at their bay
and the pipes on their puffing under the moons gentle sway,
‘why’ we ask over and over again fluid from day to day
washing up upon the shores with nowhere left,
and something to say.