Islands

Facing the wall,
Fingers in the clouds,
Your islands, your islands,
Are crashing to the blue,
And falling into depths unknown.
Wait for the call,
The gather in the fold,
Your islands, your islands,
Are crashing to the blue,
And melting into basement depths.
Don’t let me steer you wrong,
Prophecize what you must,
Take into your count,
Your people turn to dust,
When the blue turns brown,
And the clear turns grey,
And the movement on the ground,
Is left to waste away, waste away.
Facing the wall,
Fingers in the clouds,
Prophecize what you must,
You better take into your count.
Don’t let me steer you wrong,
Prophesize what you must,
Take into your count,
Your people turn to dust,
When the blue turns brown,
And the clear turns grey,
And the movement on the ground,
Is left to waste away.