The faucet drips,
and plumbing leaks,
bleak squandered trips on open seas;
Roll frigid tides,
your chances slim,
Some currents you must never swim.
seldom feeling safe and warm.
And comb the dunes-
suspicious eye becomes the moon.
And I’m confused by what it means,
my evidence will bury me.
Remove me from the witness stand,
false testimony firm in hand,
reduced to harmless reprimand.
Yet through the cracks a torrent speaks
of dark despair and calm relief,
a question soon becomes belief-
This prophet is a common thief.