The songs we sang those years
Were their own false witness.
Cries of pain that drove us witless
Through a maze of lonliness and fear.

Artists all, we sketched desperation in the shifting sand.
Our secret hearts drew togather
Outlines of the parts.
We joined one to another.

Hand in hand we raised a citidel upon the beach
Among driftwood and the song of shell,
Rang in the farthest reaches of it's boundries where they fell
Without regard for tides reach.

When finally we laid enthralled,
Careless banners crested higher than the waves.
We surrendered to sleep like exhausted slaves
And were lost to the tide, one and all.

Sketches In the Sand