And so we disembark into the crowded hall-ways
piranhas dead on our heels
it hurts but we shuffle on, what for other choice is there?
Day to day, with pieces cut out
The bitter salt fermenting in our lungs
"We can live without!", "The sun will rise again!"
And so we disembark into the crowded hall-ways; pinhas dead on our heels
We take in the bitter salt, and hope that in time our wounds will heal.