Nerve Damage

We'll be together

A hundred and thirty days later

When we go to send you away for one final time

It's then that you'll move

To travel across the equator

In search for a future that's far more abundant than mine

By the sea there sits a crowd of empty faces gathered 'round

A spill, watery tombs under the moon

And though their expressions are showing no signs of resentment

Their eyes make it clear

They're picturing their final days

When all of these figures will stand with their feet in the same sand