The first salt
for the lost
From off our faces
of that dead Time
Flying out
Out of the question
of No-man’s-land
Into the sun by the boat
with error or sin
you must live it alone
Till the cycle is run
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
The first salt
for the lost
From off our faces
of that dead Time
Flying out
Out of the question
of No-man’s-land
Into the sun by the boat
with error or sin
you must live it alone
Till the cycle is run