I tried so hard to make it to a place where I was sure
I made myself a shell on the sand but the sea was insecure
I washed the pain in the summer rain, but the clouds were moving north
I turned the page on another age, but the people starved for more.
I went inland and wrote in sand of the birth of the aeroplane
I sang to the bush of the city confusion, tightening the pain
I danced to some thumb-piano and drum, before I fell to faint
The hunt was loud and refugee cloud was gathering again.
I left the rhyme and the travel of time to the hungry and depressed
The hunters hide and the sailors cry, for the game is emptiness
For the seeking man doing what he can, for an hour in the dust
Of the wasted warm electric storm, your love held me in trust.