The sea. Holds its many hands to me. And takes me. To places where I want to be. My dreams. Many fathoms far below. Like this. The pattern of my life will flow.
The lonely street eclipsed the sun. Until the sculptor had begun. To etch and mold a dream. Which soon became a passing game. A sad forgotten scene. A face of yesterday.
Wanderer, oh wanderer. Chasing up every star. Run for one and then catch none. Then you will know what you are. Then you will know what you are. Wanderer, oh wanderer.