Track Insight / Lyrics
The lantern hums through fog, a pulse like tide.
I catch a splinter of salt on my brass, slick.
A borrowed hand turns, ink bleeding onto paper.
The last page sighs, muffled in waves, still.
I rest on a wooden desk, plank creaks as wind rushes.
The book has a shoreline scar, a scratch from a thumb.
I feel the weight of a day's tide, the cover soft.
Outside, gulls cry and waves slap stone.
The lamp keeps the steady hum, tide reflected.
Salt tastes like squall, my metal breathes.
A visitor glides, leaves a trace, then retreats.
I keep the final line, quiet as a tide's breath.
I stay in the hollow of
the book knowing sooner or later
The tide will swallow the paper, words vanish in foam.
I'm still here, my light flickers—a lone beacon.
Can't you hear the sea as I lay, whispering on dust.
