I don't live elegantly; the beautiful people I surround myself with...
They make it seem that way
Crying into frustration, laughing into oblivion
Both elements of shame lost in hypnotic wonder
And less is the grieving past of the marble and hollow wood
These dates we've set as stone in penitentiary
Are given as the follicles by which bites the seal
Moments like this are kept and roam
Furthest from the smallest lighthouse
Exempt from all other illuminations abroad
We dip softly into the salt encrustation
Adjusting our eyes to the deeper sensation of sight
Once more born, often with two toes moving palm trees
The sentiment is lacking that of holographic backing
And the unity of swarming arthropods
Has all but forgotten the wrath of megalodon