At the Bottom

Some forty stories deep and low,
Where daylight cannot even go.
A sunken ship of bygone days,
I drink salt silence in a haze.

Here, thoughts like fishes never sleep,
Around the empty cabins creep.
And time's thick water, dark and vast,
Won't let me surface from the past.

I'm at the bottom, at the bottom,
The pressure pounds against my head.
And in this darkness, deep and solemn,
I've forgotten how to swim ahead.

The sea stars of my hopes once bright,
Extinguished in the silty night.
And memory's anchor, as before,
Still holds me on this lifeless floor.

The whales of secrets, in the gloom,
Sing that above, the springtime blooms.
But I am fused with this cold bed,
And what spring means, is from my memory fled.

I'm at the bottom, at the bottom,
The pressure pounds against my head.
And in this darkness, deep and solemn,
I've forgotten how to swim ahead.

Perhaps somewhere above the waves so high,
Someone will toss a lifeline from the sky.
But for now, here, eternal frost,
A closed loop where all hope is lost.

I'm at the bottom, at the bottom,
The pressure pounds against my head.
And in this darkness, deep and solemn,
I've forgotten how to swim ahead.

I'm at the bottom, at the bottom,
The pressure pounds against my head.
And in this darkness, deep and solemn,
I've forgotten how to swim ahead.