they call it the song of the ocean.
it's made of the way that the waves smash against wood, the way the wind breaks down the clouds.
they call it the song of the sirens.
the way that the water calls to all those beating hearts, the way that men fall from the boat to the mysterious fathoms below.
they call it suicide.
the way that we tear ourselves apart for a chance to feel something cold.
the way that we need to feel the desperate need to live.
gasping for breath a hundred thousand leagues under the sea.
we can go to the water, and we can fall from the land
but nothing'll compare to the journey to and from the numb water and the warm release of sleep.