3-REM

3-REM


Shreds of moon streak to the horizon,
Broken spotlights torn from the sky,
Ripped by the thunderous night.
Falling to the violent water,
Cold as darkness, black as ice.
Brush with Death, the fin
Cleaving the inky water, as scythe through soul.
Backwash, harsh grace of mercy,
Sweep away from eternity
To mix salt with blood, flesh with stone
On the blind pillars of rock;
Left to the wrath of the sea.