Well the clouds were good and high where I was,
And they dominated all they passed for hours, and hours turned to days.
And a ceiling like that deserves the rain to justify its being.
But this story ain’t about the sky.
And our ship - she stood tall in the doldrums,
And that big blue hand did nothing else but hold us, and hold us there for days.
And the ocean seemed bored without the waves to tickle up her skin.
But this story ain’t about the sea.
And this story ain’t about the wind.
It’s about this predicament I’m in: shackled to this break.
Good lord, don’t offend the queen.
And the moon, she grew young and restless.
And the tide swung high and low to test us, slicing through the days.
And the constellations floated far away, curtained by the mist;
All of us - adrift.
all rights reserved