There's a world outside but I can't really make it.
There's a life to lead but I can't exactly fake it.
Yet the mood feels right, but my island is sinking out of sight.
I made jetties so they'd catch all the sediment.
Removed the rocks and every impediment.
The sheltering sky was to be my everlasting lullaby.
They said that islands were solid as bedrock, standing firm forevermore.
But over time, even basement wastes away to the unrelenting shore.
There's a lonely seed waiting to be planted.
I've instructions but desire is wholly absent.
I'm just a petrel in the storm; my island can't protect me anymore.