Bound on planks of rotten wood
The sails surge in the wind
Kept down, by the rain
Trickle, trickle.
In a sea of ships waves arise
Water, more of it above than below
Pouring, while pulling
Trickle, trickle.
The tiny ship looks up, no sky
Sulfate, ashes, and steam
Of progress, it seems
Trickle, trickle.
While the crowd grows dense
And water scarce
Cracking wood and threads – entangle
Trickle, trickle.
Dancing with death, zeros and ones
The sails, they sigh
Ahead, one last time.
Trickle. Trickle.