On the way down from my water sheets.
Ten thousand feet, land without a sound.
cruse past the mangroves, schools of fish.
Carve the way we'll call them valleys, Time's tattoos.
One rain drop lost to the ocean floor.
Now the waves turned back to the open door.
Crashing into white cliffs, I'll turn into clay.
All I know is, I'll be round another day.
On the way down from my water sheets.
Ten thousand feet, land without a sound.
cruse past the mangroves, schools of fish.
Carve the way we'll call them valleys, Time's tattoos.
Another day...
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