Messes Of Men

I do not exist

We faithfully insist

Sailing in our separate ships

And in each tiny caravel-

Tiring of trying, there's a necessary dying

Like the horseshoe crab in its proper season sheds its shell

Such distance from our friends

Like a scratch across a lens

Made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood

And our paper blew away before we'd left the bay

So half-blind we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood

You caught me making eyes at the other boatmen's wives

And heard me laughing louder at the jokes told by their daughters

I'd set my course for land

But you well understand

It takes a steady hand to navigate adulturous waters

The propeller's spinning blades held acquaintance with the waves

As there's mistakes I've made no rowing could outrun

The cloth low on the mast like to say I've got no past

But I'm nonetheless the librarian and secretary's son

With tarnish on my brass and mildew on my glass

I'd never want someone so crass as to want someone like me

But a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure

And I assure you, it was not what it expected it to be!

I still taste its kiss, that dull hook in my lip

Is a memory as useless as a rod without a reel

To an anchor-ever-dropped-seasick-yet-still-docked

Captain spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel

Floating forgetfully along, with no need to be strong

We keep our confessions long and when we pray we keep it short

I drank a thimble full of fire and I'm not ever going back

Oh, my God!

I do not exist, we faithfully insist

While watching sink the heavy ship of everything we knew

If ever you come near I'll hold up high a mirror

Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as you