The blood runs from my eyes
And the salt in my veins is running thin
There's not much left of me to cry away
Soon, I will be empty,
And I will be burning the wooden frame
To keep the ship moving.
What a terrible thing:
To only know steam and smoke.
What a terrible thing:
To never stand still.
But like a shark,
I fear death and sleep.
My eyelids let in light
Even in the depths of the sea
And the weeping hours of the night.
My throat, on the other hand,
Lets no air pass.
I am choking,
Choking,