Going to a place that I have always known,
but by the time I arrive it's already gone.
As it always is, but always wasn't;
long ago when there was nothing here.
Before unnatural disaster had found its origin
there was an ocean that made no waves,
but hummed along in disdain
almost as though it were singing...
This sound resounds through the sea where I lay,
unable to move my weary frame
against such unbearable shaking.
I must struggle to I break away
from this incredible weight,
and escape to a plane that I find sacred.
I listen for it where I may, and when I hear it,
faintly it says...
Somewhere along the line a transition takes place.
Wasted away when I awaken from the daze that I've been in,
my legs barely carry me high enough to crest the mountain to the sky.
From great heights I observe machines that whir,
and I know I've heard them before...