The day after tomorrow will find me
on the edge of a roaring sea
thick as snow, black as coals.
The briny smell of panicked shoals.

The day after that will dawn cold
skies reddish blue and angry gold.
The lonely angels won't dare to tread
where nature's bane has madly spread.

Then next week I'll go and stand
where the view shows off the grotesque brand.
Fleshy hide of the green land's side
cries gone unheard, if it ever cried.

Under slivered moons I'll lie down
to watch the stars' smoky gowns.
Eyes closed on founded fears
lessened by no mortal's tears.

The day after tomorrow will find me
on the edge of a roaring sea.
Maybe this time you'll stand by me
and, without a leap, I can be free.