| The Land We All Believe In |
|---|
| Four walls |
| There’s nothing inside |
| Saltwater marks |
| The passing of time |
| So create a home |
| Build it up on one side |
| Work in the evenings |
| Long mornings and nights |
| To create a place to hide |
| Spend time making sure you’re not forgetting |
| Honor all the Gods to your favor |
| Call it all, professed before your time |
| Memory |
| The tattered sea |
| A strip of land behind |
| And why beside a foot misplaced |
| Pattern seeked |
| Or pattern soaked |
| Eloquent, indeed |
| Or breed morals |
| In the fishtank |
| Of your servitude smiling |
| Wiping the piss of life into your eyes |
| Ol' yellowed edges |
| Surely |
| Reality, you are not |
| Quite what you used to be |
| With cane in hand |
| And shrinking spine |
| It seems a life |
| Will take its time |
| Or possibly |
| Time takes a life |
| To see |
| Its own peculiar anatomy |
| The land we all believe in |
