Now there’s a story, 

Or maybe there are two,

Of how to drown slowly,

When the runner is you,
There once were days,

Where the world stared through,

In every single way,

Of which memories are few,
Those times laid the foundation,

Strong, stubborn, yet hollow,

For many tears it did take in,

And now too much to swallow,
These days the flow is steady,

It rains, the river runs,

That’s a river’s story,

Flee to a bed that shuns.