The stormy beach. Shipwrecked hearts that land ashore.
Tide that rises as it pleases.
The coldness kills. A pain that ills.
Blame it on the helpess. Blame it on the faithless.
When hands for prayers are hands for fists.
When eyes for sight are eyes for fright.
Believe in pillars of sand and turn water into wine.
Still no peace rests at bay.
Shield me from the torment. The water stings.
The platform of life is molding, I'm rolling.
My edges bent. My wrinkles sprained.
Rust becomes gold in the warmth of the sun.
When what's old reminds me of the new.
My colors change.
My old shape fades.
The shape of life turned me into stone.
The chiseled piece of rock I call home.
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