My soul is not rested—
idle in a speeding vessel.
Nothingness seeping
into my marrow.
To be so light
as to sink.
See my
fine lines.
Colored in
my burning sin.
Cast your gaze;
that you may paint
me in the hues of truth
— the melancholy blues.
My soul is not rested—
idle in a speeding vessel.
Nothingness seeping
into my marrow.
To be so light
as to sink.
See my
fine lines.
Colored in
my burning sin.
Cast your gaze;
that you may paint
me in the hues of truth
— the melancholy blues.
