Ink is bleeding in the gray.
Cold wind blows the light away.
I am drifting past the stone.
Sailing on the black alone.
Floating slow beneath the bridge.
Cold as any winter ridge.
Written words that no one read.
Water is the only bed.
Amsterdam is wrapped in white.
Mist is hiding every light.
I was sent from far away.
Now I soak in salty spray.
Floating slow beneath the bridge.
Cold as any winter ridge.
Written words that no one read.
Water is the only bed.
Stamp is torn and edges curl.
Spinning in a frozen swirl.
I held news of summer heat.
Now I touch the muddy street.
Floating slow beneath the bridge.
Cold as any winter ridge.
Written words that no one read.
Water is the only bed.
Heavy iron, rusted beam.
Cutting through a heavy stream.
No one reaches for the page.
Locking me inside this cage.
Bicycle wheels spin on the quay.
I am heading for the sea.
Ink is gone and paper thin.
Let the heavy river win.
Floating slow beneath the bridge.
Cold as any winter ridge.
Written words that no one read.
Water is the only bed.
Just a scrap of ink and glue.
Sinking where the water's blue.
Paper on the tide.
